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Chapter Text

“Rivals are just people who see the same dream from opposite sides.”

The bell that signaled the end of midterms rang through Hanseong private academy like the roar of a stadium crowd, students poured out of classrooms clutching their pens and sighing, some laughing with relief, others groaning in defeat.

Jake leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as the last sheet of his calculus exam was whisked away. He’d studied until two in the morning for this one coffee fueled, eyes bleary, heart pounding.

Across the room, Heeseung tucked his pencil into his case with calm precision. His papers were perfectly stacked, his uniform immaculate as ever, top button undone just enough to look effortlessly cool. Heeseung had finished fifteen minutes early, head resting against his palm, eyes half-lidded like he was bored of perfection.

Jake wanted to hate him. Really, he did.

“Yah, Jake,” Sunghoon, his friend from the next desk, leaned over. “You okay? You look like you lost a war.”

Jake groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Because I did. Against a certain someone.”

Sunghoon snorted. “Let me guess, the same someone who’s going to get another perfect score without breaking a sweat?”

Jake didn’t need to look. He could feel Heeseung’s presence like static at the edge of his senses, cool, composed, maddeningly untouchable.

“Don’t remind me,” Jake muttered. “I studied all week and I still don’t get how he just… knows everything.”

By lunch, the hallway buzzed with speculation about the results. Hanseong was the kind of school where GPA rankings were treated like royal decrees, the top five names were posted on the main bulletin board after every major exam.

Jake trudged toward the cafeteria with Sunghoon, trying to ignore the group of girls giggling near the lockers.

“Did you see Heeseung’s uniform today? He even makes the tie look like a runway accessory.”

“Of course he’ll be number one again. He’s basically the school mascot at this point.”

Jake rolled his eyes. Mascot? More like final-boss villain.

When they entered the cafeteria, Heeseung was already there, sitting by the window with his friends, sunlight catching the edge of his hair. He was laughing at something Jay said, dimples flashing. Jake’s stomach twisted.

He hated that Heeseung was likable. Hated that he wasn’t some arrogant jerk to make the rivalry easier. Instead, Heeseung was polite, friendly, the kind of person who’d lend his notes without hesitation.

Jake would almost admire him… if it weren’t so infuriating.

The results went up two days later.

A crowd had already formed around the bulletin board, everyone jostling for a glimpse. Jake’s heart hammered as he pushed through.

1. Lee Heeseung – 100 

2. Sim Jake – 98.3

He froze.

So close. So unbelievably close.

“Second place again, huh?” Sunghoon said, peeking over his shoulder. “That’s practically a win.”

Jake exhaled shakily. “Practically doesn’t count.”

A familiar voice came from behind them. Smooth. Calm. That same faint lilt Jake could pick out anywhere.

“Nice job, Jake. You’ve improved.”

Jake turned. Heeseung stood there, hands in pockets, smile easy and genuine.

“Oh, thanks,” Jake said, trying to keep his voice even. “Guess I’m still chasing you, though.”

Heeseung tilted his head, expression thoughtful. “Maybe you’ll catch up next time.”

Jake’s stomach fluttered and he immediately hated himself for it.

“Maybe I will,” he said, forcing a grin. “Better start studying harder, hyung.”

Heeseung blinked in mild surprise at the teasing tone, then chuckled. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

That afternoon, Hanseong’s student council held interviews for new members. Jake, ever ambitious, had signed up. He wanted to prove to himself, to Heeseung, to everyone that he could be more than second place.

What he didn’t expect was to walk into the conference room and find Heeseung sitting at the head of the table, the vice president nameplate gleaming in front of him.

Of course he’s here.

“Sim Jake?” Heeseung gestured to the seat opposite him. “Have a seat.”

Jake tried not to scowl as he sat. “Didn’t know you were conducting these interviews.”

Heeseung smiled faintly. “Student council’s expanding before exam season. I volunteered.”

“Of course you did,” Jake muttered under his breath.

Heeseung raised a brow, amused. “Did you say something?”

“Nothing.”

The interview lasted fifteen minutes, Heeseung’s calm questions, Jake’s quick answers, tension thrumming between every word. When it ended, Heeseung closed Jake’s file and said, “You did well. We’ll be in touch.”

Jake nodded curtly. “Thanks.”

As he turned to leave, Heeseung called after him. “Jake.”

He paused.

Heeseung’s voice softened. “Don’t think you’re just chasing me. You push me, too.”

For once, Jake didn’t know what to say.

That night, as rain pattered against his dorm window, Jake stared at the glowing rank sheet on his phone again. 98.3. The numbers felt heavy. But underneath the frustration, something else stirred a strange warmth at the memory of Heeseung’s quiet smile.

He shoved his phone aside, burying his face in his pillow. “ugh… what’s wrong with me?”

The rain had stopped by morning, leaving the campus washed clean and shining under soft sunlight. Hanseong always looked picture-perfect after rain, cherry trees lining the courtyard, glass buildings reflecting the sky, students bustling between classes in crisp uniforms.

Jake adjusted his tie as he walked, trying not to think about Heeseung. Or the compliment from yesterday. Or the way his voice had sounded when he’d said, You push me too.

Too late. He was thinking about it. Again.

“Jake! Wait up!”

Sunghoon jogged over, holding a flyer. “Did you hear? The student council’s planning the fall festival early this year. Open auditions for performers, volunteers, everything.”

Jake blinked. “Already? It’s only September.”

“Yeah, but they said they want to impress the school board. And guess who’s running the event?”

Jake didn’t have to guess. “Heeseung.”

“Bingo.”

Jake sighed. Of course he was. Lee heeseung top student, vice-president, golden boy of Hanseong, somehow managed to be everywhere at once.

“Are you going to join?” Sunghoon asked.

Jake hesitated. He wanted to. The festival was one of the biggest events of the year, and joining the committee would mean working side by side with Heeseung. Which… was both a terrible idea and a strangely tempting one.

“Maybe,” he said finally. “Why not? Could be fun.”

The first meeting for festival planning was held that Friday. The classroom buzzed with chatter, students in neatly arranged rows as Heeseung stood at the front, marker in hand.

“Alright, everyone,” he began, voice calm but confident. “Our theme this year is ‘Seasons of Youth.’ We’ll have four sections, spring, summer, autumn, winter, each representing a stage of student life.”

Jake slouched in his seat, pretending not to listen while secretly hanging on every word. Heeseung spoke with the ease of someone who was used to being listened to, not arrogant, just sure of himself.

“And for each section,” Heeseung continued, “we’ll need a sub leader to coordinate booths and performances.”

Jay, sitting near the front, raised a hand. “You’ve already picked the sub leaders, right?”

Heeseung nodded, checking his list. “Spring, Park Jay. Summer, Park Sunghoon. Winter, Nishumara Riki. And autumn will be…” He glanced up, eyes finding Jake. “…Sim Jake.”

Jake’s head snapped up. “Me?”

Heeseung’s lips curved slightly. “You did apply for student council assistance, didn’t you? Consider this your trial run.”

A few students murmured approval, others exchanged knowing looks. The tension between the two was practically school legend at this point.

Jake cleared his throat. “Fine. Autumn’s the best season anyway.”

Heeseung’s smile widened. “Then I expect great things.”

Over the next week, Jake found himself staying late after classes, organizing booth ideas, approving budgets, chasing volunteers who suddenly remembered they had “other commitments.”

And every time he thought he could finally escape, Heeseung would show up.

“Still here?” he’d ask, leaning against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up, tie loose.

Jake would groan. “Do you ever not supervise everything?”

“I trust you,” Heeseung would say easily, “but I like seeing things done well.”

It was infuriating. And weirdly comforting.

One evening, as they both worked in the empty classroom, Jake looked up from his papers. “You don’t have to help me, you know. I can handle it.”

Heeseung glanced up, eyes warm under the lamplight. “I know. But maybe I want to.”

Jake’s heart skipped. “…Why?”

Heeseung smiled faintly. “Because it’s nice watching someone care as much as you do.”

For a moment, the air between them felt different, quiet, heavy, full of something unspoken.

Jake looked away quickly, pretending to focus on his notebook. “You say weird things sometimes, hyung.”

Heeseung chuckled softly. “Maybe.”

The festival came faster than expected. By the morning of the event, the school was a swirl of colors and noise, banners fluttering, booths stacked with food and games, students laughing in uniforms and flower crowns.

Jake’s section, the autumn zone turned out beautifully. Warm-toned lanterns hung between stalls, maple leaves scattered along walkways, and the scent of roasted chestnuts filled the air.

Heeseung stopped by around noon, clipboard in hand. “Looks amazing, Jake. You outdid yourself.”

Jake smiled despite himself. “Of course I did. Autumn’s my season, remember?”

Heeseung laughed, that low, easy laugh that always seemed to disarm Jake’s annoyance. “I’ll have to remember that.”

They stood there for a second too long, watching the crowd drift past. The wind lifted a few stray leaves, swirling them between them like something out of a movie.

Jake broke the silence first. “Don’t you have a booth to check on, vice president?”

“I do.” Heeseung’s gaze lingered a little too long. “But I like this one.”

Jake blinked, caught off guard. Before he could think of something to say, a group of first-years called out, “Heeseung sunbae! Come take a photo with us!”

Heeseung smiled apologetically. “Duty calls.”

As he walked off, Jake exhaled and muttered, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

That night, after cleanup, Jake sat on the school steps, exhausted but content. The courtyard was quiet now, lanterns still glowing softly above.

Footsteps approached. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“You should rest,” Heeseung said, dropping a can of milk coffee beside him. “You’ve been running around all day.”

Jake took it with a small nod. “Thanks.”

For a while, they sat in silence, listening to the faint hum of crickets and distant laughter.

Heeseung finally spoke, voice low. “You really did well today.”

Jake shrugged. “Guess I had to prove something.”

“To me?”

Jake glanced at him. “Maybe. And maybe to myself.”

Heeseung smiled, eyes soft. “For what it’s worth, you don’t have to prove anything. You’re already–”

“Don’t say perfect,” Jake interrupted, half laughing. “That’s your thing.”

Heeseung grinned. “Fair enough.”

Their laughter faded into a comfortable quiet. A breeze swept through, rustling the lanterns above. When Jake turned, Heeseung was watching him, expression unreadable, gaze steady.

Jake’s pulse stuttered. “What?”

“Nothing,” Heeseung murmured, still smiling. “Just… thinking how strange it is.”

“What is?”

“How rivals can end up here.”

Jake swallowed. “Yeah. Strange.”

For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Heeseung stood, brushing off his blazer. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the dorms.”

Jake hesitated, then nodded, following him into the quiet corridor of lights.

And as they walked side by side through the fading glow of the festival, Jake thought that maybe, just maybe, being second place wasn’t so bad if it meant walking next to Heeseung.

Chapter Text

“He was the reason Jake studied harder… and the reason he couldn’t focus at all.”

Monday mornings at Hanseong Academy always felt too clean.

The air smelled like disinfectant and quiet stress, sunlight bouncing off white floors polished to the point of intimidation. Everyone moved like they were late for greatness.

Jake trudged down the hall, already tired. His tie was slightly crooked, and the strap of his backpack kept slipping off his shoulder. The first thing he saw, like a cruel reminder, was Lee Heeseung’s name plastered in bold red letters on the announcement board.

Top of the class, again.

He stared at the neatly printed ranking sheet. His own name, Sim Jake, sat comfortably right below it.

Second. Always second.

He exhaled sharply.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, “does he even try?”

“Still talking to the rankings, Sim Jake?”

Jake didn’t have to turn around to know the voice. Smooth, teasing, infuriatingly calm, Lee Heeseung, the boy who made excellence look like breathing.

Heeseung’s tie was perfectly knotted, of course, but his shirt collar was slightly open, just enough to break the rules and still somehow get away with it. His hair caught the light when he tilted his head, smile lazy and confident.

Jake gave him a look that could curdle milk.

“You must be bored if you have time to sneak up on people.”

Heeseung shrugged. “You were glaring at my name like it insulted your family. I got worried.”

Jake’s glare deepened. “It does insult my family. And my dignity.”

Heeseung grinned, clearly enjoying this too much. “Then I guess I’ll apologize to both. Sincerely.”

“That didn’t sound sincere.”

“Guess I’ll try harder next time,” Heeseung said, tone light but eyes gleaming.

Jake slammed his locker shut a little harder than necessary. “You’re impossible.”

“I prefer the term unbeatable,” Heeseung replied, already walking away.

Jake muttered something that sounded suspiciously like we’ll see about that.

By lunchtime, the story had already spread, because at Hanseong, rumors moved faster than exam results.

“They’re going head to head again.”

“I heard Heeseung beat him in calculus this time.”

“Honestly, I think Jake likes him.”

“What? No way… well… maybe.”

Jake, halfway through a mouthful of kimchi fried rice, nearly choked.

“Who’s spreading that nonsense?!”

His best friend, Sunghoon, nearly snorted his drink. “Relax. You’re trending in the cafeteria again.”

“I’m not trending!” Jake hissed, stabbing his rice like it had personally wronged him.

Sunghoon smirked. “You talk about him all the time, you know. Heeseung this, Heeseung that–”

“Because he’s my rival!” Jake interrupted, pointing his spoon like a sword. “We’re literally at war.”

“Uh huh,” Sunghoon said, not even trying to hide his grin. “And how’s your enemy’s smile doing today?”

Jake froze mid-chew. “What– what kind of question is that?”

“You noticed, didn’t you?”

“No! I– shut up, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon raised both hands in mock surrender, laughing quietly. “Okay, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Romeo.”

Jake groaned and buried his face in his arms. “This school’s insane.”

After lunch, their homeroom teacher, Ms. Choi, tapped the board with her marker. “Class, I’ve decided your next grade will come from a paired presentation on The Meaning of Connection in Modern Literature.”

A collective groan echoed through the room. Ms. Choi smiled sweetly, completely unfazed.

“I’ll be assigning partners,” she continued, scanning the room like she enjoyed chaos. “This project will test both your teamwork and your ability to… compromise.”

Jake straightened in his seat, a small prayer forming in his head. Please, anyone but–

“Lee Heeseung and Sim Jake.”

The class immediately erupted into whispers.

“Oh no way–”

“Those two?”

“May the teacher gods have mercy on us.”

Jake froze, eyes wide. He slowly turned to find Heeseung already looking at him, pen twirling between his fingers, a faint smirk forming.

“Looks like we’ll be studying connection together,” Heeseung said under his breath.

Jake considered faking a sudden illness.

After class, Heeseung lingered by Jake’s desk, tapping the edge with his pencil. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, partner.”

Jake shut his notebook with a thud. “We’re not partners. We’re temporary academic associates.”

Heeseung tilted his head, smiling faintly. “That’s cute. You practiced that in front of a mirror?”

Jake’s ears went pink. “I- no! I just-”

Heeseung chuckled. “Then I’ll make sure to call you that instead. ‘Associate.’”

“Please don’t.”

Heeseung leaned a bit closer, voice low enough that Jake could feel the warmth of it. “Then make me want to call you something else.”

Jake blinked, heartbeat tripping for no good reason. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I get that a lot.”

And with that, Heeseung walked away, casual, confident, leaving Jake staring after him, jaw tight and heart doing something it really shouldn’t.

That evening, Jake sat at his desk in his small but tidy room. His textbooks were open, laptop humming softly beside him. He’d been staring at the same paragraph of Demian for twenty minutes.

He finally groaned and dropped his pencil.

“This is impossible. Not the book…. him.”

His phone buzzed. A KakaoTalk message popped up from an unknown number.

Heeseung: Don’t forget we need to meet tomorrow to plan the presentation.

Heeseung: I can come by the library after study hall.

Jake stared at the screen, hesitating, before typing back:

Jake: Fine. But we’re keeping it strictly professional.

Heeseung: Of course, Associate. 😉

Jake almost threw his phone.

The next day, the school library was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the sound of turning pages.

Heeseung was already there when Jake arrived, leaning over a table covered in highlighters, notebooks, and a copy of The Great Gatsby. Of course he was early. Of course his handwriting looked like a font.

Jake sat down across from him, trying not to notice how sunlight hit Heeseung’s hair just right.

“So,” Heeseung began, “how do you want to present it?”

Jake shrugged. “The theme’s connection, right? Maybe we focus on the symbolism of relationships–”

Heeseung nodded slowly. “I was thinking something more human. Like how competition connects people even when they don’t mean to.”

Jake froze. “That’s… oddly specific.”

Heeseung’s lips quirked. “What can I say? You’re a good source of inspiration.”

Jake nearly dropped his pen. “I– you– that’s not–”

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, clearly amused. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

Jake glared. “You’re not.”

Heeseung smiled, that quiet, calm kind of smile that drove Jake insane. “Maybe not.”

They worked in near silence for the next hour, though Jake could feel Heeseung’s gaze flicker toward him now and then. Each time, his stomach twisted with something he refused to name.

At one point, their hands brushed while reaching for the same highlighter. Jake froze. Heeseung didn’t move.

For a second, the world went weirdly quiet, just the sound of their breathing and the faint ticking of the library clock.

Then Heeseung pulled his hand back, voice low. “Careful, Associate. You’re blushing.”

“I’m not–” Jake’s voice cracked slightly, to his own horror. “It’s hot in here!”

“It’s air conditioned.”

Jake groaned. “I hate you.”

Heeseung chuckled softly. “You say that a lot.”

“Because I mean it!”

“Sure you do.”

Jake glared at him, torn between wanting to throw his pen and maybe… not.

When the library lights flickered to signal closing time, Jake packed up his things, avoiding eye contact.

Heeseung slung his bag over his shoulder, pausing at the door. “You know, Jake… you don’t have to try so hard.”

Jake blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Heeseung smiled faintly, voice softer than usual. “You’re already good. You don’t have to chase me.”

Something in Jake’s chest stuttered. For a moment, Heeseung didn’t sound like a rival. He sounded… kind.

Before Jake could answer, Heeseung gave a small wave and left, his footsteps echoing down the quiet hallway.

Jake stood there for a long moment, staring after him.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, the tension, the warmth, the pull.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

And yet, as he walked home beneath the fading Seoul skyline, Jake couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, Lee Heeseung was more than a name above his on the ranking board.

He might be the only person Jake couldn’t figure out, and maybe didn’t want to.

Chapter Text

 “He wasn’t sure when silence with Heeseung stopped feeling awkward and started feeling like something he needed.”

The library smelled faintly of paper and floor polish, a strangely calming mix that Jake had come to associate with late afternoons and quiet frustration.

He sat at their usual table near the back corner, where the tall windows filtered in just enough sunlight to paint golden streaks across the floor. His notes were already spread out, his laptop open to a half-finished slide titled “The Human Connection in Literature.”

He checked his phone.

4:12 p.m.

Heeseung was late.

Jake sighed, spinning his pen between his fingers. Typical. Of course the boy who never seemed to try hard would also never be on time.

He was about to text something passive aggressive when the door opened.

“Sorry,” came that smooth, unbothered voice. “Got caught up at student council.”

Jake looked up and immediately regretted it.

Heeseung’s hair was a little mussed, his tie slightly loose, sleeves rolled up. He looked like he’d walked out of a brochure for “effortless perfection.” Jake hated that his stomach reacted first.

“You’re late,” Jake said, flatly.

Heeseung dropped into the seat across from him, smiling faintly. “You timed me?”

“Yes,” Jake said, a bit too quickly. “I like efficiency.”

Heeseung’s smile deepened. “You like keeping track of me.”

Jake blinked. “That’s not– I don’t– You’re impossible.”

“Again?” Heeseung chuckled softly, flipping open his notebook. “We should add that to your vocabulary test. Definition: Lee Heeseung.”

Jake tried to glare but ended up rolling his eyes instead. “Can we just get this over with?”

“Sure,” Heeseung said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Where were we?”

Jake tapped his screen. “We still need to finalize the thesis for our presentation. I thought we could compare two authors’ interpretations of emotional connection–”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Or we could analyze one piece deeply. Something that shows how connection changes people.”

Jake hesitated. “You mean like, character transformation?”

Heeseung’s tone softened slightly. “More like how people change each other.”

The words lingered in the quiet space between them. For a moment, Jake forgot how to breathe properly.

Heeseung’s eyes met his, steady, unreadable, and far too close.

Jake cleared his throat. “Fine. We’ll go with that. But you’re writing the first draft.”

“Deal.”

Heeseung’s smile was small, but it carried something Jake couldn’t quite label, not mockery, not pride. Just… warmth.

They worked in silence for a while. The sound of pencils on paper, the soft hum of the air conditioner, and the occasional whisper of pages turning filled the room.

Every so often, Jake’s eyes would wander.

To the way Heeseung’s hand moved when he wrote.

To the faint crease in his brow when he was focused.

To the quiet hum he made under his breath, a habit Jake hadn’t noticed before.

It was maddening.

“Stop doing that,” Jake muttered before he could stop himself.

Heeseung looked up, puzzled. “Doing what?”

“That….humming.”

Heeseung blinked. “It helps me think.”

“Well, it’s distracting.”

“Then you’re listening,” Heeseung said with a smirk.

Jake flushed. “I’m trying to ignore it.”

“Seems like you’re not succeeding.”

Jake looked like he wanted to throw the nearest pencil, but Heeseung only grinned, returning to his notes.

Silence fell again, a softer one this time.

By 5:30, the golden light outside had faded to a soft gray-blue. The librarian walked past once, giving them a brief nod. They were the last students left.

Jake stretched his arms above his head, sighing. “Okay, I think that’s enough for today.”

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, watching him with quiet amusement. “You work too hard.”

Jake frowned. “Someone has to, since you clearly don’t.”

“That’s not true,” Heeseung said, voice lazy but his gaze sharp. “I just don’t make it look hard.”

Jake scoffed. “That’s even more annoying.”

Heeseung smiled faintly, then asked, “Do you ever stop trying to beat me?”

Jake hesitated. “Why would I?”

“Because maybe you don’t need to.”

Jake looked at him, confused. “You keep saying things like that.”

“Maybe I mean them.”

Jake blinked, thrown off by the seriousness in Heeseung’s tone. There wasn’t a trace of teasing now, just quiet sincerity.

For a moment, Jake didn’t know what to say. The words got stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat.

Heeseung glanced at his watch and stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

“I don’t need you to–”

“I know,” Heeseung said simply, “but I want to.”

Jake stared at him. “You’re weird.”

Heeseung grinned, that infuriatingly calm grin. “And yet you’re still sitting here.”

Jake opened his mouth, then shut it. He gathered his books wordlessly, pretending not to notice the warmth creeping up his neck.

Outside, the sky was deepening into evening. The courtyard lamps had flickered on, bathing the campus in soft white light.

They walked side by side, not speaking, just the sound of their footsteps echoing through the empty halls.

It should have been awkward. But it wasn’t.

Jake found himself glancing sideways at Heeseung, who was quietly scrolling through his phone, thumb brushing against the screen. His expression was calm, almost peaceful.

Jake looked away quickly.

“You’re staring,” Heeseung said without looking up.

Jake nearly tripped. “I was not!”

Heeseung finally looked at him, a teasing spark in his eyes. “You were. You do that a lot.”

Jake crossed his arms. “You’re imagining things.”

Heeseung smiled, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just bad at hiding it.”

Jake opened his mouth to argue but decided against it. He wasn’t sure he’d win this one.

When they reached the front gate, Heeseung stopped. “Hey, Jake.”

Jake turned, eyes wary. “What now?”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly. “Do you ever wonder why you care so much about beating me?”

Jake frowned. “Because I like winning.”

Heeseung’s lips curved into a soft smile, the kind that wasn’t for show. “You sure that’s all?”

Jake’s heart skipped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Heeseung shrugged, stepping back toward the street. “Figure it out, Associate.”

Jake watched him walk away, expression unreadable, his thoughts a mess.

He hated that Heeseung’s words lingered long after he disappeared down the sidewalk.

He hated that he kept replaying them.

And most of all, he hated that deep down… he already knew the answer.

Chapter Text

“It wasn’t a crush. It was just proximity. Proximity with… great hair and unfair charm.”

By Wednesday morning, the entire second year hallway was buzzing.

Jake didn’t know how it started or who said it first, but by the time he reached his locker, the damage was done.

“Apparently, they study together every night.”

“Didn’t they leave the library alone yesterday?”

“I swear I saw them walking home…together.”

“Oh my god, are they, like… friends now?”

Jake froze mid step.

Friends?

He spun around, eyes wide, but all he caught were glances, students pretending not to stare, whispering behind textbooks, giggling as he passed.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.

Just as he slammed his locker door shut, a familiar voice floated over his shoulder.

“Rough morning, Associate?”

Jake didn’t even have to turn around. “Don’t.”

Heeseung leaned casually against the lockers, bag slung over one shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t what? Say good morning?”

Jake glared. “Say anything.”

Heeseung raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. No words. Just moral support.”

“That implies you’re moral.”

“Ouch.” Heeseung grinned. “You wound me, Sim Jake.”

Jake sighed, shutting his locker a little harder than necessary. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely,” Heeseung said, his tone far too light. “I didn’t even have to spread the rumor this time.”

Jake blinked. “This time?”

Heeseung gave him a half smile. “Kidding. Mostly.”

Jake looked ready to combust. “You’re impossible.”

Heeseung chuckled under his breath as they walked down the hall side by side, which, unfortunately, didn’t help the situation. Every student they passed looked at them like they were watching a K-drama unfold in real time.

Jake could feel the stares, the whispers, the not so subtle smiles.

He leaned closer and hissed, “Walk further away from me.”

“Why?” Heeseung murmured, tone infuriatingly amused. “People might think we’re close?”

Jake’s face turned pink. “Because we’re not!”

Heeseung smiled. “Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m– it’s hot in here!”

“It’s October.”

Jake groaned.

By lunchtime, Jake was one meltdown away from transferring schools.

Sunghoon nearly choked on his tteokbokki when Jake slammed his tray down. “Dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Worse,” Jake said through gritted teeth. “I’ve seen Heeseung.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “That’s not new.”

Jake stabbed a piece of rice cake with his fork. “No, you don’t understand. People think we’re friends now. Or worse–”

Sunghoon looked entertained. “Worse?”

Jake hesitated. “Like… something else.”

Sunghoon laughed so hard he almost fell off the bench. “Oh my god, you’ve finally reached the K-drama rumor stage. Congratulations.”

“This isn’t funny!” Jake hissed, cheeks warm.

“It’s hilarious. You’re acting like he kissed you or something.”

Jake glared. “Don’t even say that.”

Sunghoon smirked. “You thought about it though.”

Jake’s fork clattered onto his tray. “I– you– shut up, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon just grinned and leaned back. “Look, rumors only stick if people believe them. So maybe ask yourself why everyone finds it so believable.”

Jake stared at him, speechless. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sunghoon just gave him that maddeningly knowing look. “You tell me.”

Later that afternoon, Jake tried to ignore the whispers by burying himself in work at the library.

Unfortunately, fate, or Ms. Choi had other plans.

He’d just opened his laptop when a shadow fell across the table.

“Hey, Associate.”

Jake didn’t look up. “No.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “No what?”

“No whatever you’re about to say or do.”

“I didn’t even do anything yet.”

Jake groaned, closing his eyes. “That’s the problem.”

Heeseung chuckled, pulling out the chair across from him. “Relax. I just came to finish our presentation.”

Jake side eyed him. “You mean look over it for five minutes and still get an A.”

Heeseung shrugged. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Jake sighed and rubbed his temples. “You’re unreal.”

“Thanks,” Heeseung said lightly, smiling as he pulled out his notebook. “You’re kind of intense when you work, you know.”

“I have to be. Not all of us are born with some magical brain that makes everything easy.”

Heeseung’s smile faltered slightly. “You think it’s easy for me?”

Jake blinked. “Isn’t it?”

Heeseung looked down at his notes, tapping his pen against the table. “Everyone assumes that. You, the teachers, even my parents.”

The tone in his voice was softer now, not teasing, not smug. Just honest.

Jake hesitated. “I… didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine,” Heeseung said, forcing a smile. “It’s just… I work hard too. I just don’t show it.”

Jake looked at him for a long moment, unsure how to respond. The room felt heavier somehow, not uncomfortable, just different.

Heeseung broke the silence first. “Anyway, I added slides on symbolism. Want to check them?”

Jake nodded slowly, and they fell into quiet work.

But something had shifted, something subtle and strange.

Every time their hands brushed reaching for a pen, every time their eyes met over the laptop screen, Jake felt that same weird pull again.

The one that had nothing to do with rivalry.

He tried to ignore it. He really did.

When they finally finished for the day, Heeseung stood and stretched, his shirt lifting slightly as he did, just enough to send Jake’s brain into temporary shutdown.

“See you tomorrow?” Heeseung said, grabbing his bag.

Jake nodded, a little too quickly. “Y-yeah. Sure.”

Heeseung smiled that slow, knowing smile. “Try not to miss me too much, Associate.”

Jake groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

Heeseung was already halfway out the door when he called back, “You like it.”

Jake froze.

The worst part was….he wasn’t entirely sure Heeseung was wrong.

Chapter Text

 “Somwhere between rivalry and reason… i forgot how to breathe.”

The storm outside Hanseong Academy had settled into a steady rhythm, a soft percussion that filled every empty hallway. The world beyond the library windows was a blur of silver rain and muted streetlight; inside, the air hummed with fluorescent quiet.

Jake’s pencil scratched faintly against paper. The numbers blurred. He’d been solving the same problem for twenty minutes, and it still refused to work. The clock above the door ticked past ten, but the thought of leaving felt heavier than the work itself.

He leaned back, rubbed at his eyes, and muttered, “Why can’t I just–”

“--stop overthinking?”

Jake startled. Heeseung stood in the doorway again, perfectly calm, raindrops clinging to the ends of his hair. His uniform blazer hung loose, tie undone, as if perfection didn’t need presentation.

“You always sneak up on people?” Jake asked, voice low.

Heeseung’s mouth curved. “Only you.”

Jake wanted to roll his eyes, but his chest did something inconvenient instead, something that made him look down quickly. “Don’t you ever go home?”

Heeseung crossed the room, dropped his bag on the table opposite him, and sat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Jake tapped the eraser against his notebook. “Some of us actually have to study.”

Heeseung laughed softly. It wasn’t mocking; it never really was, not anymore. “You think I don’t?”

“I think you don’t need to.”

That made Heeseung go quiet. For a moment, Jake thought he’d hit a nerve, but then Heeseung’s gaze softened. “Maybe that’s the problem,” he murmured. “Everything comes easy, so nothing ever feels earned.”

Jake looked up, startled. That was new, raw, almost sad. “Heeseung…”

But Heeseung just smiled faintly and leaned over, pointing at Jake’s messy page. “You miscopied the coefficient.”

Jake blinked down. “Oh.”

Heeseung’s sleeve brushed his arm as he reached across to circle the line, and Jake forgot what he was supposed to be frustrated about. For a second, the scent of rain and paper filled the air between them.

“Thanks,” Jake said quietly.

Heeseung hummed. “You’re getting better.”

Jake didn’t know what to say to that. The compliment landed heavier than it should have.

He remembered their first midterm results months ago, how Heeseung had barely glanced at his own perfect score while Jake’s name had sat two lines lower on the board. He remembered Heeseung’s polite smile, the one that used to drive him crazy.

That smile had looked effortless. Jake had promised himself he’d wipe it away someday somehow.

Now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to.

They worked in silence for a while, thunder rumbling distantly. The clock’s second hand felt louder with every tick. At some point, Heeseung stood to close the window, rain misting against his arm, and when he sat back down, his shoulder brushed Jake’s.

Neither of them moved away.

“Why do you stay so late?” Heeseung asked suddenly.

Jake shrugged, eyes on his notes. “It’s quiet. No one here to remind me I’m not first.”

Heeseung’s voice was softer. “That’s not how I see you.”

Jake looked up sharply. “How do you see me, then?”

Heeseung held his gaze. “Relentless. Brilliant when you stop doubting yourself. Kind of annoying, sometimes.”

Jake blinked, thrown off by the small smile that followed the last part. “You really don’t know when to shut up.”

“And you really don’t know when to believe me.”

The rain pressed harder against the windows. The power flickered once, leaving them in a momentary hush before the lights steadied again.

Heeseung exhaled. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

The hallways felt endless at night, echoes of footsteps, lockers gleaming faintly in the dim light. Jake’s bag strap dug into his shoulder; his heartbeat matched the rhythm of the rain.

Outside, the air was cold and wet. The school gates loomed like dark ribs against the sky.

“You’ll catch a cold,” Heeseung said.

Jake gave a small snort. “You sound like my mom.”

Heeseung glanced sideways at Jake and let out a small laugh.

They reached the street, puddles scattering silver ripples around their shoes. Jake stopped under the narrow awning of a convenience store. The yellow light above them buzzed faintly.

Heeseung stepped beside him, close enough that their sleeves brushed again. The sound of the rain filled the silence between breaths.

Jake finally said, “You really didn’t have to walk me.”

“I know.”

Jake looked up, and that was his mistake.

Heeseung’s eyes were steady, tired, maybe, but bright with something Jake didn’t have a word for. Something that felt like gravity.

For a heartbeat, Jake saw flashes of every moment that had led here.

Heeseung asleep in the library one afternoon, head resting on a book.

Heeseung handing him an umbrella during last month’s downpour.

Heeseung’s name always one place above his on the ranking board.

All of it folding into this single, fragile pause.

“You’re staring again,” Jake whispered, not sure why his voice had dropped.

Heeseung’s answer was barely a breath. “Maybe I’m allowed to.”

Jake’s pulse stumbled. “Heeseung…”

The distance between them disappeared like it had never been real.

The kiss ended as soon as it started, it was soft, tentative, almost a question. Jake stood frozen, eyes wide for a millisecond before he leaned forward again without thinking, throwing his arms around Heeseung's neck, pulling him into another kiss, and the latter wasted no time kissing him back, as if the answer had been waiting all along. The world blurred, the only sound left was rain hitting pavement and the uneven rhythm of their breaths.

It deepened without planning to, more desperate than either intended, the kind of closeness born from months of holding back, Heeseung's hands gripping Jake's waist with urgency and pulling him closer, closer and closer until there was no space left between them.

That's what made Jake come back to his senses before he finally pulled away, the air felt thinner, fragile around the space between them.

He didn’t know how long they stood like that, faces still close, breath mingling with rain-mist.

“Heeseung…” Jake muttered, voice cracking.

Heeseung’s voice was rough when he spoke. “Tell me this was a mistake, and I’ll forget it.”

Jake’s throat worked. He almost said it. But the words wouldn’t come.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

Heeseung’s eyes softened. “Then don’t.”

Jake stepped back first. “I should go.”

Heeseung started at him for what felt like a while to Jake before he nodded, though something flickered across his face, something Jake couldn’t name.

Jake turned, pulling his hood over his head. The rain soaked through in seconds, cold against the heat still lingering on his lips. He didn’t look back.

Heeseung stayed under the awning, watching the rain blur the streetlights into gold and white smears. He could still feel the echo of Jake’s breath, the way his name had sounded when it broke between them.

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed under his breath, quiet and tired.

Lightning flashed in the distance.

He looked toward the road where Jake had disappeared and whispered, “Somewhere between rivalry and reason…”

He exhaled slowly.

“…I forgot how to breathe.”

Chapter Text

“The rain only fell harder when I realized I didn’t hate him anymore.”

The rain came down in sheets, washing the courtyard into a blur of gray and silver. By the time Jake stepped out of the science wing, the sky had already swallowed the last of the daylight. The air smelled like wet pavement and chalk dust.

He hesitated under the overhang, backpack strap slipping off one shoulder. He should have gone home when the final bell rang, but his head was too crowded for the bus ride yet. He’d stayed to organize lab notes, erase the whiteboard, do anything that made him look busy.

Busy was easier than thinking.

The rain had started as a drizzle and grown into something furious, and somehow it matched the pressure building in his chest. He pressed a palm against the glass door, watching rivulets of water distort the reflection of the courtyard.

That was when he saw him.

Heeseung stood by the gates with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the sky as if it were asking him questions. His uniform blazer was already soaked through, his tie crooked, hair plastered flat from the downpour.

Jake told himself to leave. He’d been doing fine all week avoiding him, walking a different hallway, choosing a different lunch table, pretending the silence didn’t follow him around. But his feet moved before he made a decision, splashing across the puddled tiles.

He didn’t call out; Heeseung turned first.

Even from a distance, his eyes met Jake’s easily, unguarded in a way that made Jake’s throat go dry. He straightened slightly but didn’t move closer. The rain filled the space between them.

“You’re going to get sick,” Jake said, voice coming out sharper than he meant.

Heeseung gave a small, tired laugh. “Now you're the one who sounds like my mom.”

Jake shook his head. “You sound like someone who likes attention.”

That earned him a faint smile. “And you sound like someone who’s been avoiding me.”

Jake’s pulse jumped. “I’ve been busy.”

“With what?”

“Stuff.”

The rain made it impossible to tell whether the heat on his face was anger or something else. He pulled his hood up, but water dripped past the edge anyway.

Heeseung tilted his head. “We should talk, Jake.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There’s a lot, actually.”

Heeseung’s tone wasn’t mocking this time. That alone threw Jake off balance. He kept his eyes fixed on the puddles at their feet. “You always think you know what’s best, don’t you?”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

A pause, long enough for thunder to roll somewhere behind the gymnasium.

“You’ve been upset since that night,” Heeseung said finally. “And I want to know why.”

Jake barked out a laugh, too quick. “Why do you care?”

Heeseung’s answer was quiet but firm. “Can’t i?”

The words landed heavier than any raindrop. Jake blinked against the wet in his eyes, rain or not, it burned.

He took a step back. “You don’t get to just say that and make it fine.”

“I’m not trying to make it fine.” Heeseung’s hands came out of his pockets, fingers flexing helplessly. “I just– Jake, I don’t like pretending nothing happened.”

Jake’s chest tightened. He thought of the study sessions, of how easily Heeseung laughed, of the way that ease made him feel both jealous and seen. He swallowed hard. “Pretending is easier.”

“Maybe for you,” Heeseung said, “but I keep thinking about how you looked that night.”

Jake’s voice cracked. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what it meant!”

The words broke out of him like a wave. The rain swallowed the echo, but Heeseung heard it. His expression softened in the dim light.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Then let’s figure it out.”

Jake shook his head, water flying off his hair. “You can’t fix everything, Heeseung. You’re not perfect.”

“I never said I was.”

“But you act like it!” The frustration boiled over. “You act like you don’t have to try. Everyone loves you, every teacher praises you, and you don’t even have to lift a finger! And then there’s me–”

He stopped before the rest came out. His breath came fast, steam rising from the heat of it against the cold rain.

Heeseung took a slow step forward. “And then there’s you,” he echoed. “The one who works harder than anyone I know.”

Jake blinked at him. “Don’t–”

“I mean it,” Heeseung said. “You think I don’t see it? The extra notes, the late nights? I’ve never had to push myself the way you do. You make me want to.”

Jake didn’t have a reply. The words hit somewhere deep, somewhere he didn’t like being touched.

Heeseung’s gaze flicked down, then up again. “You’re allowed to be angry at me. But don’t think I don’t care.”

Lightning lit up the courtyard; for a second everything was washed white. Jake could see every drop of rain hanging in the air, Heeseung’s eyes locked on his. When the darkness returned, the silence felt heavier.

Jake tried to breathe. “Why do you even–”

Heeseung moved closer, close enough that Jake could feel the warmth beneath the soaked fabric. “Because you matter,” he said simply.

The space between them felt fragile. Heeseung lifted a hand slowly, not touching, just hovering near Jake’s sleeve, a question rather than a gesture.

Jake’s heart jumped. He could see the tremor in the fingers, the uncertainty that Heeseung never showed in class. The rain traced down his wrist, shining like silver lines.

“Don’t,” Jake whispered.

Heeseung’s hand fell back to his side. “Okay.”

Jake’s chest ached. He wanted to say something sharp, to push back, but what came out instead was quieter: “I don’t know what to do with you.”

Heeseung almost smiled, the faintest curve of his lips. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Jake looked at him for a long second, then shook his head. “I can’t–”

He stepped away, the puddles splashing under his shoes. He didn’t look up again as he crossed the courtyard, the sound of the rain swallowing every uneven breath.

Behind him, Heeseung stayed where he was.

The rain blurred everything. The courtyard lights turned into halos in the puddles, and Jake’s silhouette faded between them until there was only the sound of water and the echo of what hadn’t been said.

Heeseung pushed a hand through his soaked hair, exhaling. He hadn’t meant for it to go like that. He hadn’t meant to sound desperate. But when Jake looked at him, angry and scared all at once, something in him cracked.

He glanced at his hand, still cold, still trembling from where it had almost brushed Jake’s sleeve.

Almost.

He stood there until the sky lightened at the edges, until the rain eased into a whisper. When he finally turned back toward the building, the corridors were dark and empty, but the warmth Jake left behind in his chest refused to fade.

He didn’t know how to fix this. He only knew he wanted to try.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes, silence isn’t the absence of words, it’s the weight of everything left unsaid.”

The next morning, the sky was insultingly blue.

Sunlight slipped between the curtains of Jake Sim’s small room, painting gold stripes across his desk, his unmade bed, and the pile of worksheets he’d promised to organize. He groaned, yanking the blanket over his head. The brightness felt personal, like the universe had decided to move on while he was still stuck in yesterday’s storm.

He stayed there for a while, listening to his phone buzz with alarms he didn’t want to acknowledge. His mind replayed every word he’d thrown at Heeseung the day before, too sharp, too loud, too desperate to prove himself. He could still hear his own voice cracking in the middle of it, and the silence that followed when Heeseung hadn’t said a thing. Just that unreadable look, like Jake was a test question he didn’t want to solve.

He finally sat up. His hair was a disaster; his uniform shirt hung halfway off the chair.

You’re fine, he told himself, splashing water on his face in the bathroom. It’s just school. It’s just him.

The mirror didn’t look convinced. Neither was he.

The walk to school was all chirping birds and damp sidewalks. The rain had scrubbed everything clean, trees shining, uniforms crisp, even the banners on the school gates fluttering like nothing dramatic had ever happened beneath them. Jake tugged at his tie and tried not to think about how his chest still felt tight.

It had only been a day since the argument. Since the rain-soaked night that ended with Heeseung reaching out and Jake pulling away. He hadn’t meant to. But meaning had nothing to do with the way his chest twisted when he thought of Heeseung’s face, or the way guilt sat heavy under his ribs whenever their eyes almost met in the hall.

Now, there was just silence. Heavy, awkward silence.

“Jake, are you listening?”

The voice snapped him out of his daze. Mr. Han, their science teacher, stood at the front with a clipboard in hand. “You’ll be paired with one of the transfer students for the physics demonstration project. Since your original partner’s been reassigned, I expect you to cooperate well, understood?”

Jake nodded quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Han’s eyes softened. “Good. He’s new, just arrived from Busan. Kim Sunoo.”

At the name, the class doors slid open. A boy stepped in, bowing politely, his umbrella dripping faintly by the entrance. His uniform was immaculate, his voice light and even when he introduced himself.

“Hello, I'm Kim Sunoo. Nice to meet you all.”

The polite smile he gave the class was enough to earn a few quiet murmurs, he was good looking, in a soft way, with eyes that seemed to hold sunlight despite the gloom outside. He took the empty seat beside Jake when Mr. Han gestured him over.

“Nice to meet you,” Jake murmured as Sunoo sat down.

“Same,” Sunoo said, sliding his bag under the desk. “You’re Jake, right? Mr. Han told me.”

Jake blinked, surprised. “He did?”

“Mm,” Sunoo replied with an easy grin. “He said you’re good at hands-on experiments. That’s a relief. I’m terrible at them.”

Jake chuckled quietly, though it sounded a little hollow even to his own ears. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

But Sunoo had already tilted his head, studying Jake the way people read something that doesn’t quite make sense. His voice lowered slightly. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping much.”

Jake froze for a moment. “…I guess I haven’t.”

“Trouble with someone?” Sunoo’s question was light, but there was an edge of perceptiveness in it that made Jake’s throat tighten.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Something like that.”

Sunoo didn’t press further. Instead, he smiled not nosy, just understanding. “Then let’s make the project easy. We’ll meet at the library after class?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. That works.”

Jake and Sunoo walked side by side toward the library, the air between them filled with that tentative quiet shared by people who barely knew each other but didn’t mind it.

Inside, the library hummed softly with the low buzz of the heater. They chose a table near the back, stacks of physics textbooks spread out between them.

Sunoo tapped his pencil against the table. “So… pendulum motion or electric fields?”

Jake looked up from his notes. “Pendulum’s easier to show in class. We can build the model ourselves.”

“Then let’s do that.”

They spent the next hour sketching diagrams and splitting tasks. Jake found it strangely easy to work with Sunoo, his energy was bright but calm, his laughter filling the gaps that would’ve otherwise felt awkward. Every now and then, though, Jake caught himself glancing toward the far table near the window, the one where Heeseung usually sat when they studied together.

He wasn’t there.

Jake told himself that was good.

And yet…

“Jake?” Sunoo’s voice pulled him back. “You zoned out again.”

Jake rubbed his temple. “Sorry. Just tired.”

Sunoo hummed, setting his pencil down. “No, you’re not tired. You’re distracted.”

Jake gave him a small, embarrassed smile. “You notice everything, huh?”

“I try to,” Sunoo said simply. “You don’t talk about it, but it’s obvious. Whoever it is you’re thinking about… you miss them.”

Jake exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “We just– it’s complicated.”

Sunoo nodded. “Then don’t force it. Time sorts out what people can’t.”

Jake glanced at him, surprised by the maturity in his tone. Sunoo smiled faintly. “I sound like a counselor, huh?”

Jake laughed for real this time. “A little.”

They went back to work.

Later, as they packed up, Sunoo slung his bag over his shoulder. “Hey, are you walking home?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’m meeting Sunghoon, you know him, right? He’s been showing me around since I transferred.”

Jake blinked. “You know Sunghoon?”

“Yeah. He’s… interesting,” Sunoo said with a small smile. “He said you’re friends.”

Jake hesitated. “Something like that.”

As they stepped out of the school, the clouds were breaking apart, streaks of pink light spilling through the blue. Sunoo waved when they reached the main gate. “See you tomorrow, partner.”

Jake waved back, then started down the street toward his apartment.

Halfway there, his phone buzzed.

[Heeseung]: Did you finish your science project already?

Jake stared at the screen. His heart jumped before he could stop it.

He typed back, fingers trembling slightly.

[Jake]: Yeah. Mostly.

The typing dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

[Heeseung]: Good. You always finish early.

It wasn’t much. But the message lingered, like a ghost of their old rhythm.

Jake typed something, deleted it, then slipped his phone into his pocket without replying.

He didn’t know what hurt more, the silence between them or the fact that even a few words could still shake him.

The next morning, Heeseung was waiting by the lockers.

Jake froze mid-step when he saw him. Heeseung’s uniform jacket was half unbuttoned, tie crooked, hair still damp from a morning shower. He looked the same, calm, unreadable, but when his eyes met Jake’s, there was something faintly strained behind them.

“Hey,” Heeseung said softly.

Jake shifted his weight, gripping his books. “Hey.”

There was a long pause.

“I heard you’re working with the new guy,” Heeseung said, nodding toward Sunoo, who was laughing with Sunghoon across the hall. “You two seem close already.”

Jake frowned. “He’s just my project partner.”

“Right.” Heeseung’s tone was flat, but the muscle in his jaw ticked. “Glad you’re getting along.”

Jake’s chest tightened. “Why do you sound–”

He stopped himself.

Heeseung looked at him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Sound like what?”

“Nevermind.”

They stood there for a moment, the air heavy with all the things neither dared say. Then the bell rang, sharp and indifferent, and the hallway filled with the sound of moving feet.

Jake turned first. “I have class.”

Heeseung didn’t stop him.

But as Jake walked away, he could feel his gaze burning between his shoulder blades, a quiet, invisible pull that made his heart ache even as he forced himself not to look back.

That evening, Jake sat at his desk, staring at the pendulum model half-finished beside his notebook. His pencil rolled off the table and hit the floor, the sound small but sharp.

He closed his eyes, pressing a hand over his face.

Sunoo’s words echoed faintly in his mind.

“Whoever it is you’re thinking about… you miss them.”

Outside, the streetlight flickered. Somewhere in the distance, a motorcycle rumbled past, fading into the sound of cicadas.

Jake leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he murmured to no one. “I do.”

The next day, Sunoo found him sitting alone in the courtyard before class.

“Good morning,” Sunoo greeted, holding two cans of coffee from the vending machine. He handed one to Jake.

“Thanks,” Jake said, taking it with a small smile. “You didn’t have to.”

“Consider it a bribe,” Sunoo teased, sitting beside him. “I need your help finishing the diagram for our presentation.”

Jake laughed. “Already? You don’t waste time.”

“Neither do you,” Sunoo replied. Then, more softly; “But you look like you’re waiting for someone who never shows up.”

Jake didn’t answer. He just stared at the condensation forming on his coffee can, his reflection warped by the curve of the aluminum.

Sunoo didn’t press. He just sat there, quiet and steady, until the bell rang.

And for the first time in days, Jake didn’t feel completely alone.

That night, Heeseung stood in his room, staring at his phone again. The unread message thread from Jake glowed on his screen, short, polite, distant.

He wanted to type something. Anything. But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he opened his physics notes and stared blankly at the same sentence for ten minutes.

For all his effortless grades and quiet confidence, Heeseung had no idea how to fix the one thing that mattered most.

Outside, the city lights shimmered faintly through the mist. Two boys, two different rooms, both staring at their notebooks, their thoughts crossing paths in the silence that hung between them.

Some distances, Jake thought, didn’t need miles. They just needed silence long enough to feel like forever.

Chapter Text

 “I didn’t lose him all at once. He just started standing further away.”

Mr. Han entered homeroom with his arms full of folders and his glasses fogged from the drizzle outside. The class stood automatically and chorused a greeting before he waved for them to sit. He fumbled through his papers like someone searching for treasure.

“Big news,” he said, half laughing. “The science club and homeroom teachers have arranged a weekend retreat. Gangwon-do, countryside air, real life experiments, team activities. Everyone’s going.”

The room burst into noise, groans, cheers, and the familiar flutter of excitement that came with any break from exams. Jake leaned back in his seat, staring at the rain streaking down the window. Gangwon-do. It sounded peaceful, but peace wasn’t what he expected to find.

“Groups will be mixed across classes,” Mr. Han continued. “You’ll conduct field experiments and, ah…bond as classmates. I’ll read the room assignments.”

The list rustled in his hands. Jake barely listened until the words landed like a tap to the chest.

“Sim Jake and Lee Heeseung.”

Someone whistled. “Of course! The top two sharing a room!”

A few classmates laughed, already predicting arguments over homework. Jake felt the tips of his ears warm. He tried not to look across the room, but curiosity betrayed him; Heeseung was already watching, a half-smile tilting his mouth like he found the whole thing amusing.

Mr. Han looked pleased with himself. “Good, good. Rival energy! That’ll keep the experiments sharp.”

Jake managed a thin smile and wrote something meaningless in his notebook.

Friday morning arrived wrapped in mist. The air smelled of pine and wet pavement as students dragged their suitcases across the courtyard toward the waiting buses. Teachers called names from clipboards, umbrellas bumped into one another, and laughter rolled through the damp air.

Jake adjusted his backpack strap, scanning for an empty seat when he climbed aboard. The bus was already packed, voices, snack bags, neck pillows. He reached the back only to find every space taken except one.

Beside Heeseung.

Heeseung looked up from his phone. “Hey,” he said, casual as ever, moving his bag off the seat. “Guess fate likes repeating itself.”

Jake hesitated, then sat, careful to keep a polite amount of distance. The engine hummed to life; wipers squeaked across the windshield. Outside, the gray city blurred into the green sprawl of the highway.

For a while, neither spoke. Mr. Han’s voice floated from the front, reminding them about curfew, rules, and respecting the guesthouse owners. The chatter of their classmates rose and fell like waves.

“Want gum?” Heeseung offered quietly, holding out a small pack.

Jake shook his head. “No thanks.”

Heeseung shrugged, unbothered, and slipped a piece into his own mouth. “Suit yourself.”

The smell of mint drifted faintly between them. Jake focused on the window, counting the droplets racing down the glass. Every now and then, their shoulders brushed when the bus hit a curve. Each time, Jake’s pulse jumped before he told himself to relax.

By the time the road signs began pointing toward Gangwon-do, the chatter had softened. Half the students were asleep. Mr. Han snored lightly a few rows up. The bus filled with the soft rhythm of rain and breathing.

Jake risked a glance sideways. Heeseung’s head rested against the window, earbuds in, eyes closed. The gray light traced the line of his jaw, calm and steady, as if the past few weeks hadn’t shifted anything at all.

Jake looked away first. The rain outside was easier to understand.

The bus rumbled steadily along the wet countryside road, rain tapping faintly against the windows.

Heeseung sat by the window, earbuds in but no music playing. He was staring absently outside, watching the pine trees blur past, when the movement beside him quieted.

Jake had fallen asleep.

At least, that’s what Heeseung thought, until a sudden weight leaned softly against his shoulder.

He froze.

Jake’s head tilted, hair brushing Heeseung’s sleeve. His breathing evened out, calm and unaware. The edge of his jacket pressed against Heeseung’s arm, warm through the thin fabric of their uniforms.

Heeseung’s first instinct was to move. To shift, cough, do something. But his body refused to listen. His spine straightened, his heart tripped over itself, and all he could think was–

What is happening right now?

Around them, the noise dimmed into something distant. He could still hear Sunoo laughing two rows back, Riki loudly unwrapping chips, but it all felt far away.

Jake mumbled something under his breath, just a sleepy sound, not even a word and somehow, that made it worse. Or better. Heeseung couldn’t tell.

He glanced down. Jake’s lashes rested against his cheeks. His lips parted slightly, like he’d drifted into a dream mid-sentence.

Heeseung swallowed. His shoulder was starting to go numb, but he didn’t move. Not yet.

Maybe Jake would wake up in a minute. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice.

But for now, in the quiet sway of the bus and the faint scent of pine and rain, Heeseung sat still, pretending not to care, pretending not to notice, while his pulse gave him away completely.

“Alright, everyone!” Mr. Kang’s voice boomed from the front of the bus after almost two hours of travel, cutting through the hum of the engine. “We’re five minutes out from the guesthouse, start gathering your things!”

The announcement jolted the half-asleep bus into motion. Bags rustled, zippers zipped, chatter picked up again–

–and Jake shot upright.

He blinked hard, momentarily disoriented, his head whipping around before he realized exactly where he’d just been sleeping.

Right. On Heeseung’s shoulder.

“Oh– uh– sorry–!” Jake blurted out, voice hoarse and flustered. He immediately rubbed at his eyes, then his neck, like he could erase the evidence. “I didn’t– uh– I didn’t mean to–”

Heeseung blinked, startled but oddly composed for someone whose heart had just done a full somersault.

“It’s fine,” he said, way too quickly. “You were just…tired, I guess.”

Jake groaned under his breath, face turning pink. “Oh my god, I drooled, didn’t I?”

Heeseung choked on a laugh. “You didn’t,” he said, which was true, thankfully.

Then, after a pause he couldn’t quite help adding, “Though you did talk in your sleep.”

Jake froze mid-motion. “…I what?”

Heeseung looked out the window, suppressing a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Jake narrowed his eyes, but the corners of Heeseung’s mouth were twitching, betraying the calm act he was clinging to.

Outside, the first glimpse of the guesthouse came into view through the mist, white walls tucked between pine trees, a thin trail of smoke rising from a chimney. The bus slowed, squeaking slightly as it rolled down the gravel road.

Jake sank back into his seat with a groan, dragging a hand over his face.

“Can’t believe I fell asleep on you, of all people,” he muttered.

Heeseung leaned his chin on his hand, watching the rain slide down the window.

“Yeah,” he said softly, a teasing edge to his voice. “Me neither.”

The bus hissed to a stop.

And somehow, Jake couldn’t tell if his heart was pounding from embarrassment, or from something else entirely.

The night came slow. The last traces of sunset faded into blue, and the mountains seemed to fold into the dark. Lanterns lined the guesthouse paths, their light rippling gold across wet stone.

Jake pulled on his hoodie as he walked toward the field behind the main building, the one the teachers had chosen for their “night experiment.” The air was sharp and damp, smelling of pine and earth.

A few groups had already gathered, laying out tripods and notebooks. The teachers had set up portable lamps, their glow soft against the fog. Tonight’s lesson was on light refraction and star visibility, part science, part excuse to stay out late.

Jake spotted Heeseung kneeling beside one of the tripods, adjusting the angle of a small telescope. The pale light caught on his hair, on the curve of his jaw. He looked so calm, so focused, it made Jake’s chest ache in that quiet, unbearable way he hated.

“Can you hold this?” Heeseung asked without looking up, passing him a flashlight.

Jake crouched beside him. “Sure.”

Their hands brushed as he took it, and Jake tried not to stiffen. The night was full of the hum of insects, the sound of distant laughter. He could feel his pulse everywhere.

“Still good at this stuff,” Jake murmured.

Heeseung finally looked at him. “You mean better?”

Jake exhaled a short laugh. “There it is.”

But then Heeseung smiled, not sharp, not teasing. Just soft. “You used to like when I said things like that.”

Jake looked away quickly, flashlight trembling slightly in his hand. “You used to mean them differently.”

Silence. Just the sound of wind against grass.

Before Heeseung could reply, Mr. Han’s voice called across the field; “Pairs, start your observation logs! Note the brightness and color of visible stars.”

The students shifted into clusters again, voices rising. Heeseung returned to his notes, and Jake forced himself to focus on the night sky instead of the warmth of the boy sitting too close beside him.

Above them, the stars were faint but steady, like something just barely hanging on.

By the time they returned to the guesthouse, the lamps had burned low. Shoes were lined neatly by the door, and steam from the kitchen still drifted faintly through the halls.

Jake slipped into the room quietly, already exhausted. He dropped his hoodie over the low table and began unfolding his blanket.

Heeseung followed a minute later, hair slightly damp from washing up. “You should dry yours too,” he said, nodding at Jake’s wind-tousled hair.

Jake didn’t answer. The silence between them stretched, uncomfortable but not cold, like both were waiting for the other to say something neither of them could.

“Why are you still trying so hard?” Heeseung asked suddenly.

Jake looked up. “What?”

Heeseung leaned against the doorframe, voice even but quiet. “To beat me. You’ve already caught up.”

Jake’s chest tightened. “That’s not–”

“You’re still running,” Heeseung said, taking a step closer. “Even when there’s no race left.”

Jake’s throat felt dry. “Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know how to stop running.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air was heavy, warm from the ondol floors, filled with the faint scent of pine and detergent.

Heeseung looked at him like he wanted to say something else, something that hung dangerously close to confession, but instead, he looked away. “We should sleep. Long day tomorrow.”

Jake nodded, but his pulse didn’t slow.

When the lights went out, the darkness felt alive between them. He could hear Heeseung’s quiet breathing from the other side of the room. He could feel it.

And that was the problem. He always could.

Meanwhile, the common room was still faintly lit by the soft glow of a single lamp. Most students were already asleep, but Sunghoon and Sunoo sat cross-legged on the floor near the window, whispering over mugs of barley tea.

“So,” Sunoo said, stirring his drink with a straw, “you think Jake’s okay?”

Sunghoon glanced up. “He’s fine.”

Sunoo tilted his head, unconvinced. “He’s not. You’ve seen how quiet he’s been. Even when Heeseung’s around.”

Sunghoon sighed, leaning back against the wall. “That’s exactly the problem.”

Sunoo watched him closely, a small smile playing on his lips. “You care a lot more than you pretend to.”

“I care enough not to interfere,” Sunghoon said. Then, with a glance sideways, he added, “You care too much about things that aren’t yours.”

“Maybe,” Sunoo said softly. “But sometimes it’s nice to care. Even if it’s not yours yet.”

Sunghoon blinked at him. The air between them stilled, playful tension turning into something quieter, gentler.

Then Sunoo laughed lightly, breaking it. “Anyway, I’m serious. If Jake keeps bottling things up, he’s going to burst. Someone’s got to notice before he does.”

Sunghoon’s expression softened. “You just did.”

Jake couldn’t sleep.

He lay on his side, staring at the shadowed ceiling. Heeseung was still awake too, he could tell by the faint rustle of fabric, the quiet shift of breath.

Outside, rain had started again, soft against the windows.

“Jake,” Heeseung said suddenly, voice low in the dark.

Jake turned slightly. “Yeah?”

A pause. “I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

Jake swallowed. “You didn’t.”

Another pause. The kind that felt like standing on the edge of something that could change everything.

“I just–” Heeseung stopped himself. “Forget it.”

Jake sat up slightly. “What?”

Heeseung exhaled. “Sometimes I don’t know what we’re doing anymore.”

The words hung there, bare, honest, and heavy.

Jake’s heart thudded painfully. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Me neither.”

They looked at each other in the dim light filtering from the window, rain streaking down the glass. And for a second, just a second, the world outside blurred, and the air between them sparked with the kind of tension that didn’t need touching to be felt.

Then,

A sharp knock on the door.

Both flinched.

“Lights out, boys,” came Mr. Han’s voice, muffled through the wood. “Tomorrow’s early!”

Jake let out a shaky breath. Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess that’s our cue.”

Jake nodded faintly, lying back down. The sound of the rain deepened, filling the silence they didn’t know how to fix.

Neither of them slept well.

The room was pale with early light.

Jake woke to the sound of rainwater sliding off the tiled roof, a soft rhythm against the open window. For a moment he didn’t know where he was, the smell of pine, the faint hum of morning cicadas, the steady heat from the ondol floor pressing through the blankets. Then the memories folded in, quiet and heavy.

He rolled onto his side.

Heeseung was already awake, sitting up against the wall with his knees drawn loosely, a book open in his lap. His hair was messy, his uniform shirt wrinkled from sleeping in it. The sight would’ve been funny if Jake’s chest didn’t ache so much.

“Morning,” Jake said, his voice rough.

Heeseung looked up, surprised, then smiled, soft, small, almost careful. “Hey.”

The word sat between them.

Jake pushed himself up and rubbed his face. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven. The teachers said breakfast at seven-thirty.”

“Right.”

Jake stood, reaching for his toiletries bag. The floor creaked under his socks as he crossed to the door, and something about that ordinary sound made the whole night before feel almost unreal, like maybe nothing had happened at all. Except it had. The air between them felt different now, stretched thin but gentler somehow.

When he turned back, Heeseung was watching him. Not staring, just seeing.

“You should eat,” Heeseung said quietly. “You barely touched dinner yesterday.”

Jake nodded, fiddling with the zipper on his bag. “Yeah. Guess I wasn’t that hungry.”

Heeseung hesitated, then said, “You looked… tired last night.”

“I was.” Jake paused. “Still am.”

That earned a small chuckle, and for a second, it almost felt normal.

Steam drifted from the kitchen vents as students trickled into the courtyard. The air smelled of wet grass and freshly cooked rice. Teachers called for everyone to wash up and form lines for breakfast trays.

Jake followed the group, the wooden veranda cool under his bare feet. Heeseung was a few steps behind him, exchanging polite greetings with Mrs. Kim, always effortless.

Inside, bowls of juk, warm rice porridge were set on low tables with side dishes: kimchi, pickled radish, and soft-boiled eggs. Everyone bowed before sitting; Mr. Han said a short thank you for the meal, and the sound of spoons filled the silence.

Jake kept his gaze on his bowl. Across from him, Heeseung ate quietly, movements neat and deliberate. Their knees almost brushed under the table.

Sunghoon slid into the spot beside Jake, his tray clattering. “Morning,” he muttered through a yawn.

“Morning,” Jake replied.

Sunoo appeared right after, hair still damp from a shower, carrying two extra napkins. “You forgot these.” he said, placing one in front of Jake.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Sunoo smiled, but his eyes lingered, sharp in that gentle way of his. He took in the way Jake’s shoulders hunched slightly, the faint shadows under his eyes. Something in his expression softened.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Must’ve been the floor. Too warm.”

Jake nodded, grateful for the easy excuse.

Across the table, Heeseung’s chopsticks paused mid-air.

The teachers sent them out in small groups for the day’s experiment; measuring soil pH near the edge of the forest. Jake and Heeseung were paired again, of course. The path was muddy from the rain, and mist hung low over the trees.

They walked in near silence, broken only by the crunch of gravel and distant laughter from other groups.

Heeseung carried the sample kit; Jake held the notepad. Every so often their hands brushed when passing tools. Neither spoke about it.

At one point, Heeseung crouched to take a reading, rainwater dripping from the brim of his cap. “Hold this?” he asked, handing Jake the test strip.

Jake knelt beside him, their shoulders close. The quiet between them was full, not empty, like the pause between heartbeats.

“Jake,” Heeseung said suddenly, voice low.

Jake looked up.

Heeseung’s eyes flickered toward him, then away. “About last night…”

Jake’s throat tightened. The air smelled like wet earth and pine.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Let’s just– focus on the project.”

Heeseung didn’t move for a long second. Then he nodded, jaw tight. “Okay.”

They finished their measurements in silence. But when Jake slipped on the damp slope, Heeseung’s hand shot out automatically, steadying him. The contact lasted barely a breath, yet it felt like something inside both of them caught fire and then went still.

“Careful,” Heeseung murmured.

Jake stepped back, eyes lowered. “Yeah. Thanks.”

By noon, the rain had cleared. Everyone gathered under a wooden pavilion for lunch, kimbap, fruit, and bottles of barley tea. The teachers chatted nearby, their laughter easy.

Jake sat beside Sunoo this time. The younger boy picked at his food before leaning closer. “You’re quieter than usual,” he said softly.

Jake smiled faintly. “Just tired.”

Sunoo didn’t press, but his gaze flicked toward Heeseung, who sat across the table talking to another student. There was a calmness in Heeseung’s tone, but his fingers drummed restlessly against his bottle.

Sunoo hid a tiny smile behind his chopsticks. “You know,” he said, almost teasing, “sometimes the people who act calmest are the ones thinking the most.”

Jake blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Sunoo shrugged. “Just an observation.”

By the time the group returned to the guesthouse, the sun had dipped low, streaking the sky with peach and violet. The teachers called for everyone to clean up and prepare their final reports for presentation tomorrow.

Jake stood by the hallway window, watching mist curl over the hills. His reflection looked pale, uncertain.

Behind him, Heeseung’s voice was soft. “Hey.”

Jake turned.

“I–” Heeseung stopped, then offered a small, crooked smile. “Good work today.”

“Yeah. You too.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The cicadas outside droned louder, and the air between them hummed again with everything they weren’t saying.

Then Mrs. Kim’s voice echoed down the hall, calling everyone to the common room, and the moment dissolved.

That night, as Jake lay on his futon, the sounds of rain returned.

He thought of Heeseung’s hand catching his wrist, of the quiet careful that still echoed in his chest.

He rolled to face the window.

Across the room, Heeseung had already turned off his lamp, but Jake could feel him awake too, breathing slow, steady, pretending to sleep.

Outside, the forest whispered.

Chapter Text

“Some things don’t break. They just bend until you learn how to hold them again.”

The morning air carried the scent of pine and damp grass.

Sunlight slid shyly through the papered windows of the guesthouse, filtering into the room Jake shared with Heeseung. The faint hum of the ondol heating beneath the floorboards pressed warmth into the silence between them, a silence that had stretched from the moment they’d gone to sleep.

If it could even be called sleep.

Jake lay awake for a long time after the lights had gone out, the rhythm of Heeseung’s breathing just a few feet away, heavy with things unsaid. Every small movement, the shift of a blanket, a quiet sigh, felt louder than it should have. When he finally drifted off, it was to a dream that tasted like rain and unfinished words.

Now, morning had come too quickly.

He stirred, blinking against the light, and found Heeseung already awake, sitting up, hair tousled, scrolling through his phone in silence. The sight of him like that, utterly ordinary and quiet, made Jake’s chest ache in ways he didn’t want to name.

“Morning,” Jake said, his voice rough.

Heeseung glanced up, a brief flicker of surprise crossing his face before he offered a small smile. “Hey. You sleep okay?”

Jake nodded, though the answer didn’t matter.

There was something fragile about this, the way they both tiptoed around their words, as if anything real might break the calm they’d forced into being.

Heeseung set his phone down. “Breakfast’s in twenty minutes. You should get ready.”

Jake hummed, already pushing himself off the floor mattress. Their eyes met for a fraction too long, just long enough for Jake to remember the almost that had hovered between them last night. The way Heeseung’s voice had softened, the way the air had felt too heavy to breathe.

He looked away first. “Right. Yeah.”

The group gathered by the lake for their science experiment. The sky stretched clear, pale blue, streaked with thin white clouds. Teachers stood by the tables, assigning groups and distributing equipment.

Jake crouched near the water, scooping a clear sample into a beaker. The reflection rippled, blue sky broken by his own blurred reflection. Heeseung stood beside him, clipboard in hand, his expression calm and unreadable.

It should’ve been easy, the quiet teamwork. But every accidental brush of their hands, every glance that lingered a second too long, felt heavier than it should’ve.

Jake broke the silence first.

“You ever get tired of pretending?”

Heeseung looked up. “Pretending?”

Jake’s voice came out quieter than intended. “That everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Heeseung’s eyes flickered down to the rippling water. “Sometimes,” he admitted, voice soft. “But pretending’s easier than explaining.”

Jake huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah. Guess it is.”

Their eyes met again, and this time, it didn’t feel accidental.

Heeseung’s gaze was steady, almost sad. Jake looked away first, heat crawling up his neck.

Dinner was loud, bowls clinking, laughter echoing through the guesthouse hall. Afterward, as the sky deepened into indigo, someone shouted, “Let’s have a campfire!”

The teachers, half reluctant and half nostalgic, agreed.

The fire crackled to life in the center of the clearing, throwing bursts of orange light into the night air. Pine smoke coiled up into the stars, and laughter filled the space, tired, loose, the kind that only came after a long day of running experiments and jotting down data until the sun dipped away.

Jake sat cross-legged on a log, his notebook resting forgotten in his lap. The warmth of the flames brushed over his cheeks, but the night wind still nipped at his fingers. He tried to focus on the chatter, Sunghoon teasing Sunoo about spilling a beaker earlier, the new teacher clapping along to someone’s half-hearted song suggestion, but his gaze drifted elsewhere.

Across the fire, Heeseung was talking quietly with a few classmates, his sleeves rolled up and his hair still damp from an earlier rinse. The firelight caught on the curve of his jaw, the faint glint in his eyes, and Jake’s chest tightened before he could stop it. He hated that, hated that a single look could pull him out of himself.

Then someone, that someone being Sunghoon, called out, “Heeseung, sing us something! You were in the music club last year, right?”

Jake blinked. Music club?

Heeseung lifted his head, startled for a second, then gave that small, reluctant smile of his. “Ah… it’s been a while,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. But there was a hint of warmth in his voice, like he wasn’t really saying no.

A few people cheered, others clapped. Sunoo even clasped his hands dramatically, eyes sparkling. “Please! One song!”

Jake expected him to refuse. But then Heeseung reached for the small acoustic guitar someone had brought, fingers brushing against the strings as he tuned it by ear. The sound was soft, intimate, the kind of sound that made people go quiet without realizing it.

The night hushed. Even the crickets seemed to still.

Heeseung exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded, and began to play.

The melody that filled the air was delicate, shimmering, unfamiliar to Jake, but it carried a strange, quiet pull. Then Heeseung began to sing.

“The moment our eyes met, you flickered, like light in the dark…”

“Don’t disappear, just stay right there, before the night swallows you whole.”

Jake froze. The words slipped through the smoke and found him like a whisper meant only for him.

He’d never heard this song before. But the way Heeseung sang it, gentle, careful, like he was holding something precious and dangerous at the same time, made it impossible to look away.

Every note seemed to thread through the distance between them, soft and steady, until Jake couldn’t tell if it was the fire or something else making his pulse trip.

Around them, a few students swayed or murmured quietly in awe. Someone sighed, “He’s so good,” but Jake barely heard.

Because Heeseung’s gaze, halfway through the verse, found him.

It wasn’t blatant. Just a flicker, a glance that should’ve lasted a heartbeat. But it didn’t. It stayed.

The flames reflected in Heeseung’s eyes, and for one impossible moment, Jake thought he saw everything that had been left unsaid since that night, the hesitation, the almosts, the apology neither of them had dared to give voice to.

Heeseung’s voice softened at the last line, barely audible over the wind.

 “I’ll find you, even in the dark.”

Silence followed.

The kind that pressed close and wouldn’t break.

Jake realized his hands had clenched around his knees. His throat was dry. When the group finally burst into soft applause, he joined in too late, clapping mechanically.

Heeseung smiled faintly, bowing his head. He set the guitar down and joined a few classmates in casual chatter again, like nothing had just happened.

But Jake couldn’t unhear it.

Couldn’t unfeel the way it sounded, like something meant for him alone.

He told himself he was imagining it. That Heeseung was just performing, like always. But when Heeseung’s laughter caught the edge of the firelight and his gaze brushed past Jake again, lingering, deliberate, Jake’s chest ached with that same old confusion.

He wasn’t sure if it was warmth or hurt.

Maybe both.

Later, as the fire burned low and teachers called everyone back in, Jake lingered behind for a moment. The others drifted off in groups, their laughter fading into the night.

Heeseung stayed too, helping to put out the embers. When he straightened, their eyes met once again.

Jake opened his mouth, to say something, anything, but nothing came.

Heeseung’s voice broke the silence first, soft but sure. “You didn’t have to look away, you know.”

Jake froze. “What?”

“When I sang.” Heeseung’s gaze didn’t waver. “You always do that when you feel something.”

Jake’s breath hitched. The world felt too still.

The fire crackled once before dying into smoke.

He forced a laugh. “You’re imagining things.”

Heeseung smiled, not amused, not mocking. Just knowing. “Maybe I am.”

But they both knew he wasn’t.

The courtyard had mostly emptied, the laughter fading into the low hum of cicadas.

Most students had gone to their rooms, voices muffled through the paper-thin walls of the guesthouse. The faint scent of smoke still clung to everyone’s clothes, pinewood and ash, the kind that lingers even after you wash it out.

Inside their room, Sunoo sat cross-legged on his futon, hair damp and messy from a rushed shower, a face mask plastered over half his cheeks. He was scrolling through photos on his phone, mostly blurry shots of the campfire, a few of the stars.

Sunghoon sat across from him, leaning back on his elbows, his towel draped over his shoulders. He looked like he hadn’t even tried to dry his hair properly.

It was quiet for a moment, only the soft hum of the ondol heating beneath them.

Then Sunoo finally broke the silence.

“Okay, tell me you saw that.”

Sunghoon’s brow lifted lazily. “Saw what?”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Them. Heeseung and Jake. You didn’t feel that tension? It was practically smoking.”

Sunghoon gave a low laugh, quiet and short. “I was a little busy making sure Riki didn’t set his marshmallow on fire again.”

“Excuses,” Sunoo said, dragging out the word. “You totally saw it.”

Sunghoon didn’t answer, just glanced up at the ceiling, his usual unreadable calm slipping into a small grin. “...Maybe.”

That was enough for Sunoo to gasp dramatically. “I knew it! Finally, Park Sunghoon admits he pays attention to something other than his lab notebook.”

Sunghoon chuckled softly, watching the way Sunoo’s nose scrunched when he smiled. “You talk too much, you know that?”

Sunoo flicked a pillow at him. “You’re just mad I notice things you don’t.”

“Like what?”

“Like how Heeseung looked at Jake during that song. You didn’t notice how... I don’t know… it was different.”

Sunghoon’s smile faded a little, his eyes flickering with something thoughtful. “I noticed,” he said finally. “It wasn’t what I expected from him.”

Sunoo tilted his head. “You mean, the ‘perfect top student’ actually having feelings?”

Sunghoon chuckled again, this time lower. “Something like that.”

Sunoo smiled, not the teasing one he usually wore, but a gentler, more curious one. “You know... it’s kind of nice. Seeing them not hate each other for once.”

“‘Nice,’ huh?” Sunghoon leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “You sound like you want to turn it into a romance drama.”

Sunoo grinned, undeterred. “What can I say? I love drama. Especially when I’m not involved in it.”

Sunghoon looked over at him then, for a little longer than necessary, a steady, quiet gaze that made Sunoo suddenly aware of how small the room felt.

He cleared his throat, fidgeting with his phone. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You just… talk like you’re watching from the sidelines,” Sunghoon said softly. “Like you never think something could happen to you too.”

The air shifted, softer now. The heater hummed louder.

Sunoo blinked. “That’s– that’s because I’m smart. People who get caught in drama usually end up crying in stairwells.”

Sunghoon smiled again, but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe. But sometimes... it’s not that bad.”

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then Sunoo grinned, breaking the moment like snapping a twig. “Are you saying you want to cry in a stairwell, Park Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon laughed, a quiet, warm sound that made Sunoo’s chest flutter unexpectedly.

“I think I’d rather just stay here,” he said, voice low. “Less dramatic.”

Sunoo’s breath caught, only for a second, before he rolled his eyes, pretending not to care. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re loud.”

They both smiled at that, the kind that slips out before you can stop it.

Outside, the rain had started again, faint, steady against the window. The sound filled the silence between them, gentle and rhythmic, like the night itself had softened.

Sunoo curled up on his side, blanket tugged to his chin. “Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon looked at him, eyes soft in the dim light. “Goodnight, Sunoo.”

It wasn’t dramatic or loud or obvious, just quiet, lingering warmth.

But for the first time that night, Sunoo wondered what it might feel like to be part of the story instead of just watching from the edge.

The light slipped through the curtains in thin gold threads, stretching across the floor like it was afraid to touch them. Outside, the countryside was awake, birds calling from the pine trees, a soft wind brushing through the eaves of the guesthouse.

Inside, it was still.

Jake blinked into the morning haze, the faint scent of rain and floor polish clinging to the ondol warmth beneath him. His back ached a little, not from the floor, but from how long he’d spent lying awake last night, staring at the ceiling while the memory of Heeseung’s voice from the campfire refused to fade.

That song.

The way Heeseung’s gaze hadn’t broken from his.

Jake could still feel it, a note caught behind his ribs.

He sat up slowly, pushing his hair back. Across the room, Heeseung was awake too, half bent over his open backpack, folding his things with careful, deliberate movements. He looked… normal. Perfectly composed. Like the night before hadn’t existed.

Jake hated that it made his chest hurt.

He cleared his throat. “Morning.”

Heeseung’s hands stilled. He looked up, and for a second, there was something unguarded in his eyes, something tired, almost soft.

“Morning,” he said quietly. “Did you sleep okay?”

Jake let out a small laugh. “Define ‘okay.’”

Heeseung smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth tugging up just a little. “So… not at all.”

There was a beat of silence. It stretched, awkward but strangely calm.

Jake stood, busying himself with his suitcase. “We’re leaving after breakfast, right?”

“Yeah.” Heeseung’s voice dropped, thoughtful. “I think we’re supposed to meet in the dining hall in twenty minutes.”

Jake nodded. The sound of folding clothes filled the quiet between them. Then,

“Jake,” Heeseung said softly.

Jake froze. The tone wasn’t casual.

When he turned, Heeseung was standing a few feet away, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack. His expression was unreadable, part apology, part hesitation.

“About last night…” He trailed off, eyes flicking away. “Did I– make things uncomfortable?”

Jake’s pulse jumped. The words hit harder than they should have.

He swallowed. “No,” he said after a second, voice steadier than he felt. “You didn’t.”

Heeseung looked at him again, really looked. “You’re sure?”

Jake nodded once, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You just… surprised me. I didn’t know you could sing like that.”

A faint pink colored Heeseung’s ears. “I don’t…usually.”

He paused, then added quietly, “It felt right, I guess. Last night.”

Jake wanted to ask what felt right, singing, or the way he’d looked at him. But he didn’t. He just let the silence grow heavy between them again.

Heeseung’s shoulders relaxed, almost imperceptibly. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Then I’m glad.”

By the time they stepped outside, the rest of the class was already gathering near the buses. Laughter filled the crisp air; the teachers were loading bags, reminding students not to forget their lab notebooks.

Jake kept a step behind, watching his breath cloud faintly in the cold.

The ride back was quiet, students drifting in and out of sleep, music playing softly from someone’s phone. Jake sat by the window again, head against the glass. His reflection looked distant, eyes shadowed.

Heeseung was a few seats away, surrounded by a small group, laughing lightly at something Sunghoon said, his expression easy. But every now and then, Jake felt his gaze brush over, lingering just long enough to make the air in Jake’s lungs feel thinner.

The bus rumbled along winding roads, past misty hills and fields washed in morning light. Jake stared outside, pretending not to notice.

Pretending it didn’t mean anything.

But somewhere beneath that act, beneath the ache of confusion, pride, and whatever fragile thing had sparked between them under the stars, something unspoken was still there, waiting.

By the time they reached the city, the weekend already felt like a memory.

Jake had fallen asleep against the window, sunlight soft on his face, hair slightly tousled. Heeseung’s eyes lingered longer than they should have, tracing the small crease between Jake’s brows, the way his lips parted slightly as he breathed.

He didn’t know why it hurt.

Maybe because last night had felt too close, too real, and now, in the morning light, it was fading like something fragile he wasn’t supposed to hold.

He looked away, fingers curling over his phone in his lap. The words he hadn’t said echoed anyway.

I wanted to mean something to you.

But the bus kept moving, and the moment stayed silent.

Only the hum of the road, the low sound of the tires against asphalt and that quiet distance between them that neither of them dared to cross.

Chapter Text

“It’s not that I wanted his attention. I just hated that he gave it so easily to someone else.”

Monday mornings at Hanseong were always loud.

But that day, the noise felt muted, as if the world had been wrapped in fog.

Jake sat at his desk, chin resting in his palm, eyes half-lidded as the chatter around him blurred. Someone was complaining about the upcoming exams; another was boasting about their weekend scores in online games. The usual rhythm of school life.

Yet for Jake, everything felt… off.

Maybe it was because of the retreat.

Or maybe it was because he hadn’t spoken properly to Heeseung since they’d returned.

He’d caught glimpses, the back of Heeseung’s head in the hallway, that familiar profile against the classroom window, but every time he’d thought of walking up, something in his chest stopped him.

Something tight.

Something stupid.

Heeseung, on the other hand, looked perfectly fine. Calm, collected, like nothing at all had changed.

“Jake, you’re zoning out again,” Sunghoon said, snapping him out of his thoughts with a nudge. “You okay?”

Jake blinked. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Still thinking about exams?”

“Sure.” Jake lied.

Because exams were easier to admit than Heeseung.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. He was too busy scrolling through his phone, a faint smile crossing his face as a message popped up. Jake caught the name, Sunoo, and something softened in his expression.

He didn’t ask. It wasn’t his business.

Still, it made him think of how easy some people made it look. That quiet closeness. The way comfort just existed between them.

He tried not to look at the door when it opened.

Heeseung walked in, uniform neat as always, tie slightly loosened in that effortless way that somehow still looked perfect. He nodded politely to the teacher before sitting down, his gaze passing briefly, just briefly, over Jake.

And Jake felt that familiar pull in his chest again.

He hated it.

By the time break rolled around, Jake had buried himself in notes. Equations, theories, anything that didn’t have big doe eyes or soft laughter attached to it.

Heeseung was across the room, surrounded by a few classmates, answering a question someone had about the upcoming lab project.

And then he walked in, a younger student with messy hair, bright eyes, and a grin that seemed to light up the entire space.

“Ah, hyung! You’re here!” the boy said, bowing slightly before plopping down beside Heeseung like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jake frowned, pencil pausing mid-scribble.

Heeseung smiled, that easy, warm curve of his lips that Jake hadn’t seen in days. “Jungwon, you’re early.”

Jungwon.

Jake had heard the name before, a second-year who’d joined the science club this semester. Smart. Friendly. Teachers loved him.

Heeseung leaned over to check Jungwon’s notes, their heads close enough that a strand of Jungwon’s hair brushed Heeseung’s sleeve. Jungwon laughed and Heeseung did too, quiet but genuine.

Jake’s jaw clenched before he realized it.

He looked away, but the sound stuck in his ears like static.

Sunghoon noticed the shift in his posture. “You okay?”

Jake forced a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sunghoon gave him a long look. “No reason. You just look like you’re about to stab your notebook.”

Jake glanced down. His pen had nearly torn through the paper.

“Guess I’m just tired,” he muttered.

The next class passed in a blur. Jake answered questions automatically, scribbled notes he didn’t read, laughed when someone made a joke, but none of it landed.

Because every time he looked up, Heeseung was there.

Not with him.

Just… near enough to notice. Far enough to make it ache.

Heeseung seemed relaxed, even lighter. Jungwon hovered close by during lunch, chatting about some club experiment, and Heeseung listened, patient, amused, eyes crinkling at the corners when Jungwon got too excited.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t.

That’s what Jake kept telling himself.

He was fine.

Absolutely fine.

“Jake!” Sunoo’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “You’re coming to the study hall later, right?”

Jake nodded absently. “Yeah.”

“Good! We’ll need your notes. Hoon and I–” Sunoo’s eyes flicked toward Sunghoon before catching himself, smile twitching. “We’ll be reviewing chemistry.”

Jake nodded again, offering a faint smile he didn’t feel.

The air in the classroom grew thicker as the day dragged on.

Jake couldn’t help it, every time Heeseung laughed, something inside him bristled.

Every time Jungwon said hyung with that easy fondness, Jake’s fingers tightened around his pen.

And when Heeseung finally turned to him near the end of class, eyes bright, voice calm and asked, “Hey, Jake, did you get the last equation? I think I misread it,”

Jake didn’t mean for it to come out sharp.

But it did.

“Why don’t you ask Jungwon?” he said, not looking up.

The room went still for a second.

Heeseung blinked, caught off guard. “I just thought–”

“You seem to be working well together,” Jake interrupted, flipping a page. “Didn’t want to ruin the chemistry.”

The irony hit even him halfway through the sentence, but pride wouldn’t let him back down.

Heeseung’s lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but the bell rang before he could.

Chairs scraped, students stood, the noise returned but the silence between them stayed.

Jake didn’t look at him again.

He couldn’t.

Jake barely remembered leaving class.

He’d shoved his books into his bag too quickly, ignored the faint sound of Heeseung calling his name, and walked straight out into the hallway.

The air there felt thinner somehow, echoing footsteps, buzzing lights, the faint scent of chalk and rain that clung to the building after last night’s drizzle.

He should’ve felt better. Distance usually helped.

But as he reached the library doors, Jake realized his chest was still tight, his throat dry.

Because even now, his mind kept replaying that small, surprised look on Heeseung’s face.

The one that said I didn’t mean to upset you.

“Why should he even care?” Jake muttered under his breath.

It wasn’t like they were–

He stopped himself.

Because finishing that sentence hurt too much.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the school, the atmosphere in the study hall was… very different.

Sunghoon had spread out three notebooks, two pens, and a half-empty iced coffee across the table. He was meticulous as always, flipping through pages and underlining key formulas like a machine.

Sunoo, on the other hand, had a pink pen between his fingers and absolutely zero focus.

“Are you even listening to me?” Sunghoon asked without looking up.

Sunoo hummed. “Mhm.”

“You just highlighted the title.”

“It’s an important title,” Sunoo said innocently, tapping the page. “Titles set the mood.”

Sunghoon sighed but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Sunoo grinned, tilting his head, “you keep inviting me to study.”

“That’s because you’d fail chemistry without me.”

“I prefer to think of it as collaboration,” Sunoo said. “Like… emotional support during academic suffering.”

Sunghoon finally looked up, pen still in hand. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” Sunoo corrected, eyes sparkling.

Sunghoon shook his head, fighting the heat threatening to creep up his neck. “You’re something, that’s for sure.”

For a while, the only sounds were the scratching of pens and the hum of the air conditioner. But the silence between them wasn’t heavy, it was comfortable, stretched gently like sunlight across the table.

Sunoo’s foot brushed against Sunghoon’s once, accidentally, or maybe not, and neither of them moved it away.

After a few minutes, Sunoo leaned back, exhaling. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

Sunghoon glanced at him. “Just tired.”

“Because of Jake and Heeseung?”

That caught him off guard. “What makes you say that?”

Sunoo gave him a look. “You think I don’t notice things? The air around those two is… weird.”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Do you think they’ll ever talk it out?” Sunoo asked, resting his chin on his palm. “It’s like watching a really slow drama. The kind where you want to scream at the screen.”

“I don’t know,” Sunghoon said quietly. “They’re both too proud.”

“Pride’s overrated,” Sunoo said simply. “If you like someone, you should just say it.”

The words hung in the air, casual, but sharp in meaning.

Sunghoon’s pen stilled against the page.

“You make it sound easy,” he said softly.

Sunoo’s smile faded just a little. “It’s not. But maybe that’s what makes it worth it.”

They looked at each other for a moment, longer than they should’ve.

Outside, the sky was fading into gold, and their reflections in the window overlapped briefly before the light shifted.

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “We should… finish this chapter.”

Sunoo’s lips curved again, softer this time. “Sure.”

But as they bent over the pages, neither could focus. Not really.

Later that evening, Jake found himself back in the library.

He didn’t know why. Maybe because it was quiet. Maybe because it smelled faintly like paper and safety, something constant in a week that hadn’t felt like his own.

He’d just sat down with his notes when someone’s shadow stretched across the table.

He didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Heeseung said quietly.

Jake’s pen froze mid-line.

There was a long pause, filled only by the faint hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of pages from distant aisles.

Jake stared at the same sentence in his notebook, not trusting himself to speak first.

“Can we talk?” Heeseung asked, voice careful. “I feel like… something’s wrong.”

Jake let out a quiet laugh, small and humorless. “Why would you think that?”

Heeseung stepped closer, brow furrowed. “Because you’ve been avoiding me since the trip.”

Jake didn’t answer. His pulse beat loud in his ears.

“I don’t know what I did,” Heeseung continued, quieter now, “but if I did something to upset you–”

“You didn’t,” Jake interrupted, finally looking up. His tone came out sharper than he intended. “You didn’t do anything.”

Heeseung frowned. “Then why–”

“Forget it.” Jake snapped his notebook shut, standing up. “You wouldn’t understand.”

And for a second, a single, painful second, their eyes met, and everything they weren’t saying hovered between them like a fragile thread.

Heeseung’s expression softened. “Try me.”

Jake’s throat went dry. He wanted to say it, that it hurt seeing him with someone else, that it made him feel stupid and childish and jealous.

But the words refused to come out.

So he just shook his head, slung his bag over his shoulder, and walked away.

Heeseung didn’t follow.

Not yet.

The library door closed behind Jake with a soft thud, and the silence that followed felt louder than anything else.

His footsteps echoed down the corridor, too fast, too uneven, until he finally stopped by the stairwell, pressing a hand against the cool wall.

He hated this feeling.

The heat crawling up his neck, the tremble in his fingers, the way his chest ached as if he’d swallowed every word he hadn’t said.

“Try me.”

That’s what Heeseung had said.

But how was he supposed to try when every time he looked at Heeseung, the world tilted a little, when the things he wanted to say didn’t sound like rivalry anymore?

Jake dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Not for him.

Not for the boy who’d once been his standard of perfection, the one he swore he’d surpass.

Not for the same person who could make him furious and fascinated in the same breath.

And yet…

Meanwhile, Heeseung stayed in the library for a long time after Jake left.

He didn’t move, just stood there, staring at the empty space Jake had occupied, the half-dented edge of the wooden desk still warm where Jake’s arm had been.

He didn’t know what had just happened.

Jake’s tone hadn’t been cruel, but it had been final. Like a wall he didn’t remember building had suddenly appeared between them.

Heeseung sank slowly into the chair opposite Jake’s, fingers brushing over the pages of the open notebook Jake had forgotten to close properly.

The handwriting was neat, small, almost tense.

He could see faint impressions of words pressed too hard into the paper, as if the emotions behind them had been heavier than the pen could handle.

He shouldn’t have looked. But his eyes caught one word, repeated several times in the margins.

Focus.

Heeseung smiled faintly, a little ache curling in his chest.

Jake always pushed himself too hard.

He closed the notebook gently and exhaled.

He’d known Jake long enough to recognize that kind of silence, the kind that wasn’t about anger but about confusion, about trying to protect yourself from something you couldn’t name.

Still, he wished Jake would let him in.

By the time classes ended, the atmosphere in school had shifted.

The air outside buzzed with the low hum of cicadas and the smell of sun-warmed asphalt.

Students were laughing near the gate, some running to catch buses, others chatting about their upcoming exams.

Jake wasn’t among them.

He sat under the shade of the cherry blossom trees near the back field, pretending to reread notes. The page hadn’t turned in ten minutes.

He’d skipped lunch, skipped conversation, skipped everything that involved looking at Heeseung.

But pretending not to notice him was harder than he thought.

Because every time Heeseung laughed in the hallway, Jake’s head turned automatically.

Every time he saw Jungwon walking beside him, smiling, relaxed, perfectly at ease, something sharp twisted in his stomach.

Jungwon wasn’t doing anything wrong.

That was the worst part. He was just… there. Talking. Laughing. Sitting too close. And Jake hated himself for noticing every detail.

He hated that it mattered.

“Why does it even bother me?” he muttered, voice barely audible. “It’s not like he’s mine.”

Heeseung, meanwhile, wasn’t having an easier time either.

He’d caught Jake’s quick glances, the sudden stiffness whenever he entered the room, the way Jake avoided him without really avoiding him, like two magnets constantly fighting the pull between them.

And lately, Heeseung couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He sat on the bleachers with Jungwon during their short break, pretending to read through the next assignment outline, but his mind was elsewhere.

Jungwon nudged him gently. “You look distracted.”

Heeseung blinked. “Do I?”

“Yeah. You’ve been staring at the same line for five minutes.”

Heeseung chuckled softly. “Guess I’m tired.”

Jungwon tilted his head. “Or thinking about something else?”

Heeseung smiled but didn’t answer.

Because what could he say? I’m thinking about someone who won’t even look at me right now?

Jungwon didn’t push. “If it helps, talking about it usually makes it easier.”

Heeseung gave him a grateful look. “Thanks. Maybe later.”

As they stood to leave, Heeseung caught sight of Jake across the field, sitting alone under the trees, sunlight glinting off his hair.

For a split second, Jake looked up.

Their eyes met.

Neither smiled.

But neither looked away, either.

That evening, the rain started before sunset, soft and steady, soaking the school courtyard in a misty haze. Most students had already gone home, leaving the hallways eerily quiet except for the sound of water dripping from the eaves.

Jake had stayed behind in one of the empty classrooms, claiming he needed to “catch up on notes.”

Really, he just needed space, somewhere Heeseung wouldn’t find him.

Except, of course, Heeseung did.

When the door slid open, Jake didn’t look up from his desk.

He recognized that voice instantly when Heeseung said, “You missed study group.”

Jake didn’t answer. He just turned a page in his textbook he wasn’t reading.

Heeseung sighed, crossing his arms. “Are you really going to keep ignoring me?”

Jake’s shoulders tensed. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“Then talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Heeseung frowned. “That’s not true. Something’s wrong, Jake. I can see it.”

Jake’s jaw tightened. He took a slow breath, then another, before saying, “You don’t have to fix everything, you know.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” Heeseung said, voice softer now. “I’m trying to understand you.”

Jake looked up then, really looked and something inside him cracked a little at the sincerity in Heeseung’s eyes.

Because Heeseung wasn’t mocking him. He wasn’t trying to win. He was worried.

And that made it worse.

Jake forced a small laugh. “You can’t understand something I don’t understand myself.”

Heeseung stepped closer. “Then let me try.”

Jake’s breath hitched, barely, but enough for Heeseung to notice.

Heeseung stopped only a foot away, eyes searching Jake’s.

And for a moment, everything was quiet except the sound of rain beginning to tap against the window.

Neither of them spoke.

The air between them was thick, heavy with words unspoken, and something else. Something fragile, trembling, dangerous.

Jake finally whispered, “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

Heeseung blinked. “What do you mean?”

Jake swallowed, looking away. “Nothing. Forget it.”

He reached for his bag, but Heeseung caught his wrist, gently, not enough to stop him, just enough to make him look up again.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Heeseung said quietly. “Not anymore.”

Jake’s pulse roared in his ears. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, afraid that if he did, the moment would shatter.

Then Heeseung’s hand fell away, slow and reluctant, as if realizing what he’d done.

Jake stepped back, voice low. “Then stop confusing me.”

Heeseung froze. “Confusing you?”

Jake almost laughed. “See? You don’t even know what that means.”

And before Heeseung could respond, Jake brushed past him and left, again, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft click, leaving Heeseung standing in the quiet room, the only sound being the steady rhythm of rain against the window.

He stood there for a long time, eyes fixed on the empty doorway, before whispering to no one at all,

“I just wanted to make it right.”

Chapter Text

“Avoiding him was easier than admitting how much I missed him.”

The weekend arrived too quietly.

Jake had never noticed how loud the clock in his room was until now. Every tick sounded like it was mocking him, a reminder that time was passing and he still hadn’t stopped thinking about that night.

He was supposed to be studying for next week’s chemistry quiz, notes spread across the desk like a battlefield. But his eyes kept landing on the empty space beside his desk, where his bag from the retreat had sat, still faintly smelling of pine and wood smoke.

He let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair.

“Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath.

But his chest still tightened whenever he replayed the campfire in his mind, Heeseung sitting across from him, the fire painting his face in gold and shadow. The quiet confidence in his voice when he sang, the way everyone had gone silent just to listen.

And the moment their eyes had met, brief, too brief, but enough to leave Jake’s pulse unsteady.

He’d looked away immediately, pretending to fix his sleeve, pretending the sound of Heeseung’s voice didn’t linger like smoke.

Now, alone in his room, he hated that he could still remember it so vividly.

He hated that he wanted to.

Then his mind started replaying the moments Heeseung had with Jungwon, he didn't know why it bothered him this much, seeing Heeseung's attention on someone else.

He reached for his highlighter, trying to distract himself with formulas and notes. But every line blurred, every word dissolved into nothing. His thoughts wouldn’t stay still. They circled back, again and again, to the same person he swore he didn’t care about.

Heeseung.

Across the city, Heeseung’s weekend wasn’t much better.

He was sprawled on his bedroom floor, music playing faintly from his phone. His textbooks were open, but his gaze was fixed on the ceiling, blank, restless.

The trip had ended, but something about it still clung to him. Not just the mountain air or the cold mornings, but the strange quiet that had settled between him and Jake.

Heeseung had tried to shrug it off. Jake was competitive. Touchy. Sometimes moody for no reason.

But lately, every time they passed each other, the silence between them had grown heavier.

And the way Jake had acted that last morning, clipped replies, no eye contact, it had left Heeseung wondering what he’d done wrong.

He’d thought the campfire had gone well. Everyone had been laughing. Even Jake had looked… softer, somehow. Until he wasn’t.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “You’re overthinking again, Lee Heeseung.”

His phone buzzed once, a message from Jungwon.

Jungwon: you alive? jay’s dragging me to the library again

Heeseung: barely. you two studying for exams already?

Jungwon: yeah. wanna join?

He stared at the message for a few seconds, debating.

Studying sounded boring. But staying here with his thoughts sounded worse.

 Heeseung: sure. give me 10 mins.

The campus library was quieter than usual that day, the kind of quiet where even the sound of pages turning seemed too loud.

Heeseung sat across from Jungwon, who was flipping through his notes while Jay read beside him, leaning comfortably close.

Jay had his hand resting on the back of Jungwon’s chair, and though Heeseung had teased them endlessly about it, he couldn’t help smiling.

“Okay, hyung,” Jungwon said, squinting at Heeseung’s empty notebook. “You’ve been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes.”

Heeseung blinked. “No, I haven’t.”

Jay chuckled. “You have.”

Heeseung frowned, glancing down. His notes really were blank. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About chemistry or someone?” Jungwon teased, voice lilting.

“Neither,” Heeseung replied too quickly, earning a knowing look from both of them.

Jay leaned back, his tone casual. “You’ve been weird lately. Did something happen on the trip?”

Heeseung hesitated. “Not really. Just… tired, I guess.”

That wasn’t true, but he didn’t know how to explain the weight sitting in his chest. The quiet unease of wanting to talk to someone who kept walking away.

Heeseung shut his notebook with a soft thud. “I think I’ll take a break. My brain’s not working.”

“Go grab coffee or something,” Jungwon said with a grin. “You look like you need sunlight.”

Heeseung smiled faintly, grateful for the easy teasing. “Yeah. Maybe I do.”

That night, Jake lay in bed, staring at the faint glow of his phone screen.

He wasn’t waiting for a message, or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Still, every time it buzzed, his chest tightened in quiet hope.

Nothing.

He set it aside and closed his eyes, but all he saw was the firelight reflected in Heeseung’s eyes.

All he heard was his voice, smooth, steady, and maddeningly beautiful.

Hanseong was already buzzing by the time Jake walked through the gates.

Students were chatting about the upcoming exam week, laughter echoing across the courtyard, sneakers squeaking against damp pavement from last night’s rain.

But for Jake, it all felt distant, like he was watching from behind glass.

He had his earbuds in, pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes kept flicking toward the school building. Or more specifically, toward the entrance, where he knew Heeseung would appear any second.

He told himself he didn’t care.

He told himself he wasn’t looking.

And yet, when Heeseung finally walked in, hair a little messy from the wind, uniform half-tucked like he’d rushed through breakfast, Jake’s stomach did something annoyingly complicated.

He turned away instantly.

“Jake!”

The familiar voice of his classmate, Sunghoon, snapped him out of it. “You good, man? You look like you didn’t sleep.”

Jake forced a scoff. “Did you?”

“Fair,” Sunghoon grinned. “Sunoo made me stay up watching that drama again. It’s actually good, though.”

Jake tried to smile, but it faltered. The mention of something as simple and lighthearted as that made him feel heavier somehow, like he’d been carrying something too long.

They walked into class together. And there he was again.

Heeseung was already seated by the window, sunlight brushing against his desk.

Next to him, Jungwon.

Jake froze.

Jungwon was smiling, showing him something on his phone, and Heeseung was laughing. Not the polite kind. The real one, the one that reached his eyes.

Something sharp twisted in Jake’s chest before he could stop it. He dropped his bag on his seat with more force than necessary, the loud thud drawing a few glances.

Heeseung looked up briefly, startled, their eyes meeting for a second before Jake broke it off and sank into his chair.

Heeseung’s smile faltered.

By the second period, the air between them was painfully thick.

Jake sat two rows behind Heeseung, but he could feel him, every shift, every glance. He could feel when Heeseung wanted to say something, and when he decided not to.

During lab time, the teacher began pairing students for the next experiment.

“Lee Heeseung with…”

Jake’s heart jumped before he could help it.

“Yang Jungwon.”

He sank lower in his chair.

Heeseung turned to Jungwon and smiled easily. “Guess we’re partners again.”

“Lucky me,” Jungwon said brightly, bumping his shoulder.

Jake’s pencil snapped between his fingers.

He cursed quietly, shaking off the tiny graphite pieces, but Heeseung had already turned at the sound.

Their eyes met again, just long enough for Heeseung to frown, confusion flickering across his face.

Jake looked away, pretending to write something, jaw clenched.

He didn’t even understand why he was angry. It wasn’t his business who Heeseung worked with.

It wasn’t his business who Heeseung smiled at.

But it still burned.

Heeseung caught up to Jake by the stairwell after class, determination flickering beneath his calm expression.

“Jake,” he called, voice steady but uncertain.

Jake didn’t stop walking.

“Jake,” Heeseung repeated, a little louder this time, stepping forward until he was close enough to block his path.

Jake sighed, refusing to meet his eyes. “What?”

“What’s going on with you?” Heeseung asked softly. “You’ve been… off. Since the trip.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Jake muttered.

Heeseung tilted his head. “Then why are you acting like I ran over your dog?”

Jake’s eyes flicked up at that, irritation sparking. “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not.” Heeseung’s voice lowered. “If I did something wrong, just tell me. I don’t like guessing.”

Jake hesitated, and for a split second, he wanted to say everything.

That he hated how easily Heeseung smiled with other people.

That he hated how confusing his own chest felt when Heeseung looked at him like this, searching, worried.

But the words wouldn’t come. They lodged in his throat, tangled and heavy.

He forced a small laugh instead, brittle and sharp. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Heeseung. Just… don’t worry about it.”

He tried to step past him, but Heeseung reached out, gently, almost instinctively, his hand brushing Jake’s sleeve.

“Jake, wait.”

That brief touch stopped everything. The hallway noise, the echo of footsteps, even Jake’s heartbeat for a second.

He turned his head slightly, meeting Heeseung’s eyes, warm, uncertain, and far too close.

Something flickered there. Unspoken. Familiar. Dangerous.

Then Jake pulled his arm back, his voice tight. “Don’t.”

Heeseung froze.

Jake walked off before either of them could say another word.

Later that afternoon, Heeseung found himself alone in the empty music room, the same one the choir used after class. He sat by the piano, pressing random keys without rhythm.

The sound was soft, hesitant, like his thoughts.

He wasn’t used to not understanding Jake. They bickered, sure, but there was always a rhythm to it.

Now, there was just silence.

He sighed and rested his chin on his hand, staring out the window. The sunlight caught on the glass, spilling across the piano like liquid gold.

From down below, in the courtyard, he could see Jake leaving early, bag slung over one shoulder, head bowed slightly.

Heeseung exhaled, a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“Why do you make it so hard to talk to you?” he murmured to no one.

His fingers brushed the piano keys again, and a faint tune filled the room, the same one he’d sung at the campfire.

For a heartbeat, it almost felt like Jake was still there, sitting across the firelight.

Chapter Text

 “It’s easier to look away than admit you’re staring.”

Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Hanseong’s library, tinting the rows of books in shades of gold and dust. The world outside was alive with chatter and footsteps, but inside, everything was muted, the hush of pages turning, the steady hum of quiet thought.

Jake sat hunched at a table near the back, one hand buried in his hair, the other tapping a pen against his notes. He wasn’t reading. Not really.

Every few seconds, his eyes flicked up toward the front of the room.

Where Heeseung sat.

Of course he did. Sitting there like calm personified, shoulders relaxed, eyes trained on his own book. Next to him was Jungwon, who kept leaning over to show him something in his notes. And Heeseung…Heeseung smiled. The kind of soft, distracted smile that Jake hadn’t seen since the trip.

Jake looked away, jaw tightening.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. Heeseung could sit with whoever he wanted. Talk to whoever he wanted. Laugh like that, with anyone.

Except Jake hated how it felt.

“Jake?”

He blinked, realizing Sunghoon had been calling him. The other boy sat across the table, a book open but clearly forgotten.

“You good, man? You’ve been staring into space for like five minutes,” Sunghoon said, brows raised.

Jake forced a shrug. “Just tired.”

Sunghoon tilted his head, unconvinced but not pushing. “You know, Sunoo’s got this weird study technique, says it helps him focus.”

As if on cue, Sunoo came skipping between aisles, arms full of notebooks. “Weird? It’s called effective learning by osmosis, thank you very much.”

Jake almost laughed at that, grateful for the distraction.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, grinning. “You mean ‘copying my answers.’”

Sunoo gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I contribute ideas.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like how your handwriting looks like you were running from the police while taking notes.”

Jake couldn’t help it, he snorted. Loudly. Sunghoon looked offended for half a second before dissolving into laughter, the sound light and easy.

Sunoo’s lips curved into a smug smile. “See? I make studying fun.”

“You make everything dramatic,” Sunghoon muttered, but he was smiling too.

Jake leaned back, letting their laughter fill the air. There was something warm about it. Uncomplicated. Maybe that’s what Heeseung and Jungwon had too, something easy.

Jake swallowed, eyes drawn again to the table across the room. Heeseung’s head was tilted toward Jungwon, listening as the younger boy animatedly explained something. Their shoulders almost brushed.

Jake’s stomach twisted.

He looked away before he could stop himself.

By lunch, the tension had burrowed deep under Jake’s skin.

The hallway buzzed with noise, students rushing between classes, voices echoing off the walls, but all Jake could hear was his own heartbeat.

Heeseung had just come out of the science lab, sleeves rolled up, holding a stack of papers. Jungwon walked beside him, smiling at something Heeseung said.

Jake didn’t even realize he’d slowed down until they noticed him.

“Hey, Jake,” Jungwon greeted, his tone warm as ever. “You heading to the cafeteria?”

“Yeah.” Jake’s voice was flat, clipped. He didn’t look at Heeseung.

Heeseung, on the other hand, was frowning slightly. “You okay?”

Jake’s hand tightened around his bag strap. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? You’ve been–”

“Didn’t know we were keeping tabs now.”

The words slipped out sharper than he intended. Heeseung blinked, caught off guard. Jungwon looked between them, the tension almost visible.

“I– uh, I’ll head first,” Jungwon said quietly, before walking off down the hall.

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. Great.

Heeseung watched him for a moment before stepping closer. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Jake–”

“I said nothing.”

It came out too fast, too defensive. Heeseung’s expression faltered, and for a second, Jake hated himself for it.

But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t explain what he didn’t even understand.

Heeseung exhaled softly. “Okay.”

That quiet word, more than the argument itself, left Jake feeling hollow.

He watched Heeseung walk away, that familiar ache curling low in his chest.

The library was quieter that evening.

Sunghoon and Sunoo had claimed a corner table again, books spread around them. This time, though, their focus had shifted completely from academics to each other.

“Stop tapping your pen,” Sunoo whispered, glaring.

“Stop breathing so loud,” Sunghoon shot back without missing a beat.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The... nose thing.”

Sunoo blinked, then smirked. “So you do look at me when I’m not talking.”

Sunghoon froze for a second, then muttered, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

Jake, sitting two tables away, tried not to smile. Their back-and-forth was ridiculous, but in the best way. It reminded him that not everything had to be complicated.

He flipped a page in his notebook but didn’t read a word. The thought of Heeseung’s confused expression kept replaying in his head. The way his voice had softened, like he was trying to understand, not fight.

And Jake…Jake had just shut him out.

Again.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, sighing.

“Jake?”

That voice. Soft, familiar, cautious.

He looked up and there Heeseung was. Standing by his table, the same half-smile that always felt too genuine for comfort.

“Mind if I sit?”

Jake’s throat felt dry. “It’s a library, not my house.”

Heeseung smiled faintly and sat down across from him. “Then I guess I’ll take that as a yes.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, just charged. Every small sound seemed amplified. The faint scratch of pens, the ticking clock, the distant rustle of pages.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Heeseung said finally.

Jake’s pen froze mid-note. “No, I haven’t.”

Heeseung’s brows rose. “Really? Because I’m starting to think you change routes just to not walk near me.”

Jake shot him a glare. “Maybe you’re just imagining things.”

“Maybe you’re just bad at hiding.”

Jake exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “Why do you care, anyway?”

That question landed heavier than either expected.

Heeseung’s expression softened. “Because you matter.”

Jake’s breath caught.

For a second, just a second, he forgot where they were. The library faded, the noise dimmed, and it was just them, caught between silence and everything left unsaid.

Heeseung looked at him like he wanted to say more but held back.

Jake forced himself to look away first.

“I’ve got to finish this,” he muttered, eyes on his notes that suddenly made no sense.

Heeseung nodded slowly. “Okay.”

He stood, hesitated, then said quietly, “You don’t have to keep pushing everyone away, you know.”

Jake didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Just listened to Heeseung’s footsteps fade until he couldn’t anymore.

And then, alone again, he finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

The sky above Hanseong looked bruised, streaked with the faint orange of a city that never quite slept. Jake pushed open the rooftop door and stepped into the chill. The metal handle left condensation on his palm. He breathed in the wind until it filled his chest and tried to let the day leak out of him.

Lately everything felt tight, grades, the project, Heeseung. Especially Heeseung.

He wasn’t supposed to notice every time the older boy smiled at someone else. He wasn’t supposed to care that Jungwon laughed at Heeseung’s jokes like he used to.

You’re being ridiculous, he told himself, leaning on the railing. Below, Seoul shimmered like a thousand restless thoughts.

The door creaked again. Footsteps. Slow, certain.

“Jake.”

Heeseung’s voice was soft but it carried easily in the open air. Jake stiffened. “Did you follow me?”

“I noticed you left during cleanup.” Heeseung stopped a few steps behind him. “The teacher was looking for you.”

Jake didn’t turn around. “I needed air.”

There was a pause, long enough for the wind to whistle between them. “You’ve been avoiding me,” Heeseung said finally.

Jake gave a short laugh. “You must be imagining things. You’ve got plenty of company lately.”

Heeseung frowned. “You mean Jungwon?”

“I didn’t say that.” Jake’s knuckles whitened on the railing. “But if the shoe fits–”

“Jake.” Heeseung’s voice dropped. “He’s just a friend.”

“Right. You make friends easily. Some of us have to work for everything.”

That landed sharper than he intended. The air shifted; Heeseung came closer, the scrape of his shoes against the concrete loud in the quiet.

“You think I don’t work for anything?”

Jake turned, meeting his eyes at last. “You don’t have to. You’re Lee Heeseung. Top of the class without trying. Everyone likes you. Teachers worship you. You don’t even see how easy you have it.”

Something flickered across Heeseung’s face, hurt, then something harder. “You really think that?”

Jake didn’t answer. His throat felt tight.

Heeseung took another step, close enough that Jake could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the cold. “I try, Jake. Maybe not the way you do, but I try. You’re not the only one who wants to be seen.”

The words knocked the breath from Jake’s chest. For a second neither of them spoke. The wind hummed around them, carrying the smell of rain and asphalt.

Heeseung’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he should. “Why are you so angry with me?”

Jake swallowed. “Because you make it hard to–” He stopped.

“To what?” Heeseung’s voice was low now.

Jake looked away, jaw tight. “To figure out what I’m even supposed to feel.”

For a heartbeat, the world shrank to the space between them, their breaths clouding the same cold air, the quiet thud of Jake’s pulse in his ears.

Then Heeseung exhaled, half-laughing, half-broken. “You think you’re the only one confused?”

Jake blinked. “What do you–”

The door burst open behind them.

“Ah…so this is where you two ran off to.” Sunghoon’s voice cut through the tension, light but edged with curiosity. Sunoo followed him out, hugging his cardigan against the wind.

Heeseung stepped back at once. Jake turned away, pretending to watch the skyline.

Sunoo glanced between them, eyes narrowing slightly. “We were looking everywhere. The teachers want everyone downstairs.”

Heeseung nodded, clearing his throat. “Right. We’re coming.”

For a moment no one moved. Then Sunghoon, ever perceptive, raised a brow and smirked. “You two good?”

“Fine,” Jake said too quickly.

Heeseung offered a faint smile. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”

Sunoo’s gaze lingered on Jake for a second longer, gentle, questioning, but he didn’t ask. “Let’s go before Ms. Han starts another lecture.”

As they filed back inside, the door swung shut behind them, leaving the wind to carry away what neither boy could say.

Jake’s heart still beat too fast. Heeseung walked just ahead, shoulders tense, and Jake wondered if the other boy could hear it, the echo of everything he wanted to deny and couldn’t.

Sunghoon leaned closer to Jake and whispered, glancing ahead at Heeseung who was still in front of them but too far to hear him. “Rough day?”

Jake scoffed quietly. “You could say that.”

Sunoo exchanged a small look with Sunghoon before leaning closer too, his tone softening. “You’ve been kind of... off lately. Even Heeseung looked worried.”

At the mention of his name, Jake froze.

He masked it with a sip of his coffee, but Sunoo noticed, of course he did. Sunoo always noticed.

“Did you two fight?” he asked gently.

Jake exhaled, eyes fixed on Heeseung's back. “Something like that.”

Sunghoon tilted his head. “You know, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But sometimes holding it in just makes it worse.”

Jake let out a faint laugh. “You sound like a teacher.”

“Please,” Sunghoon muttered, lips twitching, “I’d be the worst teacher imaginable.”

That earned a small smile from Jake, small, but real this time. Sunoo caught it and relaxed, resting his head on Jake's shoulder.

“Whatever it is,” Sunoo said softly, “Heeseung doesn’t seem mad. Just… confused.”

Jake’s chest tightened again. “Yeah. I know.”

“Then maybe don’t leave it like that,” Sunghoon added. “You don’t seem like the type who likes regrets.”

Jake glanced at him, surprised by the quiet sincerity in his voice.

Maybe he was right.

He’d spent weeks pretending his frustration was about rankings, pride, rivalry, but none of it explained why Heeseung’s absence felt louder than any argument they’d ever had.

The silence stretched again, this time calmer.

Sunoo leaned a little against Sunghoon’s shoulder now, his voice lighter. “If we’re done with the wisdom session, can we go back? Before Ms. Han ends up killing us.”

Sunghoon chuckled, “Yeah, yeah. Drama scene over. Let’s move.”

Jake followed their small exchange quietly, something in it made his chest ache, but not painfully this time. More like longing.

As they turned to leave, Sunghoon paused for a second before turning back to Jake. “Hey, Jake.”

He looked up.

“Whatever happened between you and Heeseung,” Sunghoon said with a faint, knowing smile, “just… don’t let it be the last thing.”

Then they were gone, leaving Jake alone once more, but this time, the silence didn’t hurt as much.

Maybe tomorrow, he’d stop running from it.

Maybe tomorrow, he’d finally talk to him.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes, pretending not to care is just another way of waiting for someone to notice.”

Morning sunlight slanted through the classroom windows, catching dust in the air and making everything look sharper than it should. The week had barely started, but Jake already felt behind.

He was sitting at his usual desk, pen tapping rhythmically against his notebook as he half-listened to the teacher review the new assignment schedule. His mind kept drifting, not to the formulas on the board, but to the quiet hum of voices behind him.

Lee Heeseung and Yang Jungwon.

They’d been talking since the bell rang, about something harmless, probably, judging by Jungwon’s bright laugh. But the sound still grated at Jake’s nerves in ways he couldn’t explain.

He told himself it wasn’t jealousy. It was just… strange. Seeing Heeseung get close to someone new so easily.

Heeseung had always been the type people gravitated toward. Calm. Smart. Effortless. Jake hated that word, but it fit him too well.

“Sim Jake,” the teacher called, making him jerk upright. “You’re paired with Park Sunghoon and Kim Sunoo for this project.”

“Yes, sir,” he said automatically.

Sunghoon leaned over, whispering, “Guess we’re stuck with you again.”

“Lucky me,” Jake muttered back.

When the bell rang, everyone started moving, chairs scraping, notebooks snapping shut. Jake slung his bag over his shoulder, keeping his eyes trained on the floor as he made for the door.

He didn’t get far.

“Jake.”

He froze. The voice was low, familiar.

He turned slightly. Heeseung stood a few steps away, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack. His expression was unreadable, polite, as always.

“What?” Jake asked, maybe a little too flat.

Heeseung blinked, like he hadn’t expected that tone. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

Jake frowned. “Didn’t realize we talked that much.”

Something flickered across Heeseung’s face, surprise, maybe hurt, but it was gone before Jake could be sure.

“I just thought…” Heeseung started, then trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Jake didn’t move as Heeseung brushed past him, their shoulders barely missing. For a second, the faint scent of cologne and pencil lead lingered in the air.

“Hey,” Sunoo’s voice broke the silence. “You coming? We’re meeting in the library before lunch.”

Jake blinked back to reality. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

As he followed Sunoo and Sunghoon out, his gaze flicked toward the window, where Heeseung was walking beside Jungwon, hands in his pockets, smiling faintly at something Jungwon said.

Jake’s stomach twisted again. He didn’t know why.

But it was enough to make him snap another pen in two later that day.

The library was unusually quiet that afternoon, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like it was meant to be filled with thoughts you didn’t want to have.

Jake sat hunched over a textbook, his pen circling the same line of notes again and again. Across from him, Sunoo was sprawled over his open notebook, humming as he doodled in the margins, while Sunghoon highlighted things with military precision.

“You look like you’re trying to shoot lasers from your eyes,” Sunghoon commented, not looking up.

Jake grunted. “I’m studying.”

“Uhuh,” Sunoo said, tilting his head. “Studying what, exactly? The concept of misery?”

Jake threw him a look, but it only made Sunoo grin wider.

They worked in relative silence after that, at least until Sunoo nudged Sunghoon’s knee under the table, making him glance up with a sharp, half-amused glare.

“Stop it,” Sunghoon hissed.

“You love it,” Sunoo whispered back, eyes sparkling.

Jake rolled his eyes and muttered, “Please don’t flirt in front of the emotionally unstable.”

That made Sunoo laugh, soft and delighted. “Oh, so you admit you’re emotionally unstable?”

“Sunoo.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Sunoo said, holding up his hands. “But seriously, what’s up with you? You’ve been extra grumpy since, like, this morning.”

Jake’s pen stilled. He didn’t answer.

Before either of them could press, a familiar voice cut through the aisle.

“Hey. Is this seat taken?”

Jake’s shoulders stiffened instinctively.

He didn’t have to look up, the voice alone was enough.

Heeseung stood there, his uniform slightly rumpled, a stack of notebooks balanced in one arm. He looked… hesitant. Which was new.

Sunghoon blinked between them, sensing the tension immediately. “Uh, no,” he said slowly. “Go ahead.”

Heeseung sat down beside Jake, close enough for Jake to feel the warmth radiating off him, but far enough to pretend it didn’t bother him.

For a few minutes, the only sound was pages turning, pens scratching. But it was unbearable.

Jake could feel Heeseung glance at him more than once, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out where to start.

Finally, Jake sighed, keeping his voice low. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

Heeseung hesitated. Then quietly; “Did I do something?”

Jake blinked. “What?”

“You can't tell me you haven't been avoiding me,” Heeseung said, his voice soft but steady. “If I said or did something-”

“You didn’t.” Jake’s reply came out sharper than he meant. He rubbed his forehead. “You didn’t do anything, okay? I just… have a lot on my mind.”

Heeseung nodded, though the furrow between his brows didn’t ease. “Right.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. Jake tried to focus on the notes in front of him, but the words blurred into nonsense. He could feel Heeseung’s quiet presence beside him, patient, steady, infuriatingly kind and it made something twist in his chest.

He didn’t understand why it hurt. Only that it did.

Sunoo’s voice eventually broke the silence again, light and teasing. “Wow, tension much? Should we give you two a moment?”

Sunghoon kicked him under the table. “Sunoo.”

“What? I’m just saying–”

“Don’t.”

Sunoo pouted, but the grin tugging at his lips gave him away.

Jake exhaled slowly, pretending to ignore them, but the edge of his mouth twitched, just barely.

Heeseung noticed. His gaze softened.

Maybe it wasn’t forgiveness. Maybe it was just… a start.

The next day, the lab was unusually quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint scent of ethanol settling over the room like a slow fog. Heeseung was already there, methodical and calm, notebook open, pencil poised above the page. Jake arrived a few minutes later, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder, and paused for a fraction of a second to watch Heeseung adjust a row of glass beakers with a meticulous hand.

“Morning,” Jake muttered, not looking up.

Heeseung nodded without a word, his attention returning to the experiment at hand. It was almost painfully ordinary, the way he moved, steady, precise, like every motion was measured. Jake found himself unconsciously mirroring some of the movements, handing over reagents or steadying the equipment Heeseung’s hands hovered near.

For a while, the lab existed as a bubble, detached from the rest of the school. The occasional scrape of a chair or distant cough barely penetrated the quiet rhythm of pipettes and note-taking. Then, without warning, Jake’s hand brushed Heeseung’s as he passed over a small flask. Neither of them flinched, neither of them spoke.

A few seconds stretched into something longer, just long enough for the moment to be noticed.

From the doorway, a shadow paused. One of their classmates lingered, phone held discreetly in hand, eyes wide. The student’s lips parted, and a hushed whisper slipped into the empty lab. “Did you see Heeseung and Jake… like that?”

Jake felt a twinge of irritation and glanced up, but the classmate was already slipping out of sight. Heeseung, absorbed in his meticulous adjustments, didn’t notice.

Minutes later, the soft click of the lab door announced someone else’s presence, authoritative, deliberate.

“Sim Jake. Lee Heeseung.” The teacher’s voice was calm, even measured, but it carried the weight of immediate attention.

Jake froze, stomach twisting. Heeseung looked up slowly, notebook still in hand, brows slightly knit. Both of them instinctively straightened, a practiced politeness folding over the sudden tension.

“Yes,” Jake replied, bowing lightly as Heeseung did the same. The teacher’s eyes flicked briefly between the two, sharp and assessing. “I’ve heard some concerning reports about your behavior in the lab.”

Jake’s pulse quickened, and Heeseung’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. The quiet, private rhythm of the lab had been shattered by misunderstanding, and the ripple was already reaching a point neither of them had anticipated.

“What behavior?” Jake asked carefully, trying to keep his voice neutral.

The teacher’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’ll need you both to explain what happened while you were working together.”

Heeseung exchanged a quick glance with Jake, something unspoken passing between them, a mixture of frustration, exasperation, and the faintest trace of amusement that the world could so easily misread them.

As they followed the teacher toward the small office adjoining the lab, the faint echo of whispers lingered in the quiet room behind them. The tension that had been simmering between them in the library now had an uncomfortably tangible form, and neither boy knew exactly how to navigate it.

The office was small, lined with tall bookshelves and faintly smelling of polished wood and old textbooks. The teacher gestured for them to sit, but neither boy moved immediately. Politeness was ingrained: slight bows, careful placement of hands, posture rigid but respectful.

“Sit,” the teacher repeated, voice even but carrying an unmistakable weight. Heeseung lowered himself onto the chair first, notebook resting on his lap, pencil still in hand. Jake followed, the chair scraping softly against the floor.

“I’ve received some concerning reports,” the teacher began, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Apparently, the two of you were… engaging in behavior that was inappropriate for this setting.”

Jake’s chest tightened. Inappropriate? They hadn’t even been doing anything, just working quietly together.

“We–” Heeseung started, but the teacher held up a hand.

“I want to hear from each of you. Please explain exactly what occurred in the lab this afternoon.”

Jake felt his throat tighten. Heeseung’s calm, steady presence beside him made him almost want to throw up, the unfairness of the situation mingling with something else he couldn’t name. He took a slow breath.

“It… it was just lab work,” Jake said carefully, eyes fixed on the edge of the desk. “We were following the instructions for the experiment. That’s all.”

Heeseung’s voice was quiet, measured, but firm. “Yes. We were concentrating on our tasks. No inappropriate behavior occurred.”

The teacher’s gaze softened slightly, but suspicion lingered. “Yet someone reported seeing something else?”

Jake swallowed. “Someone must have misinterpreted it.”

Heeseung nodded, lips pressed together. “A misunderstanding,” he added.

The teacher sighed, leaning back slightly. “I see. I expect all of you to be mindful of your conduct in the future. The lab is a shared space, and rumors can spread quickly. I trust you understand.”

“Yes, ma'am,” they replied in unison, bowing slightly.

As they left the office, the tension in the hallway hit them immediately. Whispers and glances followed their every step. Jake’s stomach twisted, a combination of embarrassment, frustration, and though he wouldn’t admit it, something protective toward Heeseung.

Heeseung, ever composed, moved beside him silently. His presence was steady, calm, and infuriatingly soothing at the same time. Jake caught himself glancing at him, noting the way his hands remained relaxed, the faint crease of concentration between his brows.

“Let’s just get back to the lab,” Heeseung said quietly once they were out of earshot, voice almost a murmur. “We need to finish the experiment before the period ends.”

Jake grunted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Sure.”

They returned to the lab, still under the watchful eyes of some curious classmates, and resumed their work. The whispering had not stopped, but the routine, the rhythm of pipettes, the careful measuring, the quiet collaboration, began to pull some of the tension away.

Still, Jake felt it lingering beneath his skin, the ache of being misjudged, the unfairness of the rumors. Heeseung noticed without speaking, his gaze briefly meeting Jake’s, a subtle acknowledgment of solidarity that spoke louder than words ever could.

Somewhere in the back of the room, the faint click of a camera shutter, probably someone documenting the “scandal”, reminded them that the world outside their bubble had already started shaping the story.

Heeseung adjusted a beaker, careful to keep his movements calm and deliberate. Jake mirrored him unconsciously, fingers brushing against glass, heart still caught somewhere between anger, embarrassment, and… something else he couldn’t quite name.

The lab returned to its usual quiet, but for both of them, the air was charged now, every glance heavier, every small movement loaded with an unspoken awareness.

Even in the midst of chemicals and calculations, the rumor had planted itself firmly in the space between them.

Elsewhere, down the quieter hallways of the school, Sunoo and Sunghoon found a small corner of the library to spread out their notes. The afternoon light slanted lazily through the windows, casting golden rectangles across the floor. Sunoo had his sketchbook open again, doodles and half-written formulas scattered across the page, while Sunghoon’s hands moved with meticulous precision over highlighted lines in his textbook.

“You okay?” Sunoo asked, glancing up at his friend. His tone was light, teasing, but there was something softer beneath it.

Sunghoon’s pencil paused. He looked up, hesitating, then shook his head. “Just tired,” he said finally, his voice low.

Sunoo tilted his head, studying him, then smirked. “Tired, huh? Or secretly dramatic?”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon replied, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a barely-there smile.

Sunoo laughed softly and leaned back, watching him. “You know, it’s kind of nice having a quiet moment like this. No one yelling, no rumors, no chaos. Just… us and the notes.”

Sunghoon exhaled slowly, tension leaving his shoulders in a subtle slump. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

The two shared a quiet smile, the kind that didn’t need words. Outside their little corner, the school hummed with life and whispers, but here, they could breathe, even if only for a few minutes.

Back in the lab, Heeseung and Jake worked side by side, the lingering rumors pressing at the edges of their thoughts. Heeseung moved deliberately, precise as always, but his eyes kept flicking toward Jake. There was an unspoken worry there, a quiet protectiveness he didn’t voice.

Jake noticed it, of course. He felt it in the subtle way Heeseung adjusted a flask closer to him, in the careful pause when their hands brushed. It was infuriating, confusing, and comforting all at once.

As the last of the measurements were recorded and the final observations noted, the lab fell into a comfortable silence. Heeseung leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair, gaze settling on the far wall.

Jake shifted in his seat, hesitating, then finally spoke. “Thanks… for sticking with me through all that.”

Heeseung’s eyes met his, calm and steady, and for a moment, Jake thought he might say something more. But instead, Heeseung simply nodded, lips pressed together, a faint crease between his brows. “Always,” he said softly, almost under his breath.

The words were simple, but they carried more weight than any grand gesture. Jake’s chest tightened, and he looked down at the notebook in front of him, unwilling to meet Heeseung’s eyes.

Heeseung exhaled quietly, his gaze drifting back to the bench. The lab smelled of ethanol and paper and faint warmth, a scent that had always been grounding, but today it felt different. Heavy, and yet… comforting.

The whispers outside had not stopped entirely, but for the first time that day, Heeseung allowed himself to let them fade into the background. He couldn’t control the rumors, and he couldn’t stop people from misreading what they didn’t understand. But he could stay here, steady and present, with Jake.

And that, for now, was enough.

Heeseung closed his notebook slowly, letting the pencil rest across the page. The ache in his chest was quiet, a steady pulse of frustration, concern, and something else he didn’t yet name. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The silence carried it all.

The lab remained still around them, a small island in the storm of gossip and misunderstanding, and for a brief, fleeting moment.

Heeseung allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, they would navigate it together.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes, the truth isn’t hidden, you just refuse to look where it’s standing.”

The morning sunlight came in soft, pale ribbons through the windows of the courtyard hall, glancing off glass and metal and the faint sheen of dew still clinging to the benches. A few students lingered after homeroom, their laughter faint and harmless, carried by the early breeze. It was one of those quiet stretches of time between classes, not quite a break, not yet a rush, when the campus felt half-asleep.

Sunghoon sat with one leg crossed over the other, a half-empty can of coffee balanced loosely in his hand. He was watching the path beyond the courtyard without really seeing it, his gaze unfocused, his thoughts elsewhere.

Beside him, Sunoo was trying to unwrap a pastry without tearing it apart. The plastic crinkled stubbornly.

“You’re going to rip it,” Sunghoon murmured without looking.

“I won’t,” Sunoo said, tugging one last time before the package split too quickly and crumbs spilled onto his lap. He groaned. “Okay, maybe I did.”

Sunghoon reached over, brushing the flakes off with his fingertips, a motion too natural to mean anything to anyone else, except it did. Sunoo blinked down at him, warmth flickering briefly in his chest.

“You’re neat to a fault,” Sunoo said, trying to sound casual.

“You’re messy to a crime,” Sunghoon replied, finally glancing at him. His lips curved, the kind of smile that wasn’t wide enough to be called one, but was real all the same.

The air between them felt comfortable, a balance they’d learned to maintain, Sunoo’s brightness filling the spaces Sunghoon left empty.

They sat like that for a while, the sound of footsteps and faint chatter drifting through the open hall. Sunoo eventually broke the silence again, his voice light but soft around the edges.

“Hey,” he said, nudging Sunghoon’s shoulder with his own. “You’ve been quiet today.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but this is the kind of quiet where you’re thinking too much.”

Sunghoon gave a small sigh. “Maybe I am.”

Sunoo tilted his head. “About what?”

Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. He took a sip of his coffee, eyes following a cluster of first-years running across the courtyard. “Just… things. Exams. You.”

Sunoo blinked. “Me?”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked back, calm but honest. “You eat breakfast like it’s a fight to the death.”

Sunoo let out a laugh, quick, bright, genuine. “That’s what you were thinking about?”

“Among other things.”

“Uhuh.” Sunoo smiled, small but real. “You could just admit you like sitting with me in the mornings, you know.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but his expression softened. “You talk too much.”

“And you listen too well,” Sunoo replied quietly, taking a bite of his now half-crushed pastry.

A pause stretched, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of the unspoken, the comfort of being known without needing to explain.

A light breeze lifted the edge of Sunoo’s hair, brushing against his cheek. He squinted toward the trees by the science building, where sunlight fractured through the branches. “You think things are going to calm down soon?”

Sunghoon followed his gaze. “With Jake and Heeseung?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know.”

Sunoo hummed. “They’ve been acting weird lately.”

“Weird’s putting it lightly,” Sunghoon said. “The whole school’s talking about that lab thing. Someone said a teacher got involved.”

Sunoo’s expression faltered. “Yeah. I heard that too.”

The silence turned heavier for a moment.

Then Sunghoon leaned back, shoulders brushing the wall. “Jake’s probably tearing himself apart over it. That’s what he does.”

Sunoo nodded faintly, thoughtful. “He’s been quieter than usual. Even in class.”

“He’ll show up eventually,” Sunghoon said. “He always does.”

As if summoned by name, a figure turned the corner from the lower hallway. Jake, head slightly bowed, bag slung across one shoulder. His uniform blazer hung open, tie loosened, like he’d lost track of the morning somewhere between exhaustion and distraction.

Sunoo spotted him first, his expression brightening before he caught himself. “Speak of the devil.”

Sunghoon’s eyes followed. “And there he is.”

Jake hadn’t seen them yet. He walked like someone still half inside his head, brisk but unfocused, eyes distant.

Sunoo nudged Sunghoon’s side. “You think we should–”

“We should,” Sunghoon interrupted, already straightening. “If we don’t, he’s going to walk right past and pretend he didn’t see us.”

Sunoo grinned. “Then we’d better not give him the chance.”

He stood, waving his hand over his head. “Jake! Over here!”

Jake’s steps slowed. For a second, he looked like he might keep walking anyway. Then he exhaled, changed direction, and crossed the courtyard toward them.

Sunghoon smirked faintly. “Told you he’d stop.”

Sunoo nudged him again, softer this time. “You just want to look smug.”

“Always,” Sunghoon said, as Jake reached them.

Jake stopped a few steps short of them, adjusting the strap of his bag. His hair was slightly mussed, as if he’d run a hand through it one too many times.

“You two look way too relaxed for a Monday,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges.

“Because some of us actually slept,” Sunoo replied, smiling easily.

Sunghoon motioned to the bench. “Sit before you fall over.”

Jake hesitated, then sank down beside them. His movements were slower than usual, careful in a way that gave him away. He wasn’t angry. Just tired.

Sunoo watched him out of the corner of his eye. “Long night?”

Jake let out a quiet breath, rubbing his temple. “Something like that.”

The pause that followed wasn’t awkward, exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable either. The courtyard seemed to fade into a blur of footsteps and distant chatter, leaving the three of them in their own small pocket of quiet.

Sunghoon leaned back, arms crossed. “Rumor’s still going around about the lab,” he said casually. “You’d think people would get bored eventually.”

Jake’s jaw tightened, but his tone stayed flat. “They won’t. People like having something to talk about.”

“Yeah, but it’s not even true,” Sunoo said, brows furrowing. “Why would they keep–”

“Because it’s easy,” Jake interrupted. “Because it’s me.”

The words hung there, heavier than he probably meant them to be.

Sunghoon studied him for a beat. “You sound like you’ve already decided you deserve it.”

Jake didn’t respond. His fingers drummed against his knee, restless.

Sunoo exchanged a quick glance with Sunghoon, a silent agreement. If they didn’t say something soon, Jake would sink back into that same self-blaming silence he always did.

Sunoo leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “You know, if this is about Heeseung–”

Jake’s head snapped up. “It’s not.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “That was fast.”

“I just mean–” Jake broke off, then exhaled sharply. “It’s not about him. Not really.”

Sunoo tilted his head. “Then why does it sound like it is?”

Jake gave a humorless laugh, low and short. “Because everything sounds like it’s about him lately.”

There it was, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

Sunoo and Sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. Jake seemed to realize what he’d just said, his shoulders tensing as he looked away.

“I didn’t mean–” he started.

Sunghoon cut in quietly, “You did.”

Jake froze.

“You don’t have to act like you hate him anymore,” Sunghoon said. “You don’t. Not like before.”

Jake turned toward him, frown deepening. “What are you talking about?”

Sunghoon met his gaze evenly. “You look at him differently now.”

Jake stared at him like he didn’t understand, or didn’t want to. “I don’t–”

Sunoo’s voice came in, lighter but no less pointed. “You get quiet when he’s around. And not the good kind of quiet. The kind that feels like you’re trying not to say something you actually want to.”

Jake gave a short, disbelieving laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You two are reading too much into things.”

“Are we?” Sunoo said, unbothered. “Because last week, when Heeseung sat next to you in the library, you looked like you forgot how to breathe.”

Sunghoon smirked faintly. “He did.”

Jake’s face flushed before he could stop it. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Probably,” Sunoo said. “But we’re not wrong.”

For a moment, all Jake could do was stare at the ground. The breeze shifted again, cool and faint, carrying the smell of early spring. Somewhere nearby, the faint click of a vending machine echoed, a reminder that the world was still moving even when his thoughts weren’t.

Finally, he said, quieter, “It’s not like that.”

Sunoo tilted his head. “Then what’s it like?”

Jake hesitated. His throat worked before he spoke again, softer this time. “Heeseung’s just… Heeseung. He’s good at everything. Everyone likes him. It’s–” He stopped, brow furrowing. “It’s just frustrating.”

“Frustrating how?” Sunghoon asked.

Jake searched for words, struggling to find the right ones. “He makes it look easy. All of it. The grades, the attention, the way teachers trust him, the way people–” He exhaled. “The way people look at him.”

Sunoo’s voice softened. “Including you?”

Jake’s eyes flicked up, startled.

Sunoo held his gaze, gentle but unrelenting. “You look at him like you’re trying to figure out why he makes sense and you don’t.”

Jake’s mouth opened, then closed.

It wasn’t a confrontation. It was a truth said out loud, one he hadn’t realized he’d been avoiding.

Sunghoon shifted slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “Jungwon’s not a factor.”

Jake frowned. “What?”

Sunghoon glanced at Sunoo, who nodded before saying, “Jungwon’s dating Jay. They’ve been together for months.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Jake blinked, trying to process it. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Sunoo said simply. “They’re just not loud about it. But they’re solid.”

Jake sat back, the realization sinking in slowly. His heartbeat felt strangely uneven, too fast for what should’ve been a simple piece of information.

“So that whole thing with Heeseung and Jungwon…” He trailed off, the pieces rearranging in his head. “It was nothing.”

“Exactly,” Sunghoon said. “Nothing except what you made it out to be.”

Jake didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around the edge of the bench, grounding himself.

Sunoo watched him closely, the teasing gone now. “Jake,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s time you stop looking for reasons to hate him.”

Jake’s head lifted slightly.

“Because maybe,” Sunoo continued, his voice almost tender, “you never really did.”

The words landed softly, but with weight.

Jake didn’t speak. The courtyard was still again, the sunlight warm against his shoulder. For a moment, he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or sink into the ground.

Sunghoon stood, brushing off his pants. “Come on,” he said. “You’ll miss class.”

Sunoo smiled faintly, patting Jake’s shoulder before following. “Think about it, okay? Just think.”

Jake nodded without meaning to, eyes distant. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I will.”

They left him sitting there, sunlight glinting off the metal railing, the faint sound of wind through leaves filling the space they’d left behind.

Jake didn’t move for a long time.

The courtyard emptied slowly around him, footsteps fading into hallways, the buzz of conversation thinning to nothing. He sat there, half in sunlight, half in shadow, hands clasped loosely between his knees.

His mind should’ve been on the next class, on the unfinished assignment in his bag, on anything that mattered more than this.

But it wasn’t.

Jungwon and Jay.

That simple truth kept echoing in his head, reshaping everything he thought he knew.

He’d built a story around Heeseung and Jungwon without realizing it, a flimsy, desperate excuse to make sense of the discomfort that had been clawing at him for weeks.

Because if Heeseung liked someone else, then Jake’s unease was just competitiveness.

If Heeseung liked Jungwon, then Jake’s reactions weren’t personal. They were logical. Contained.

But now?

Now there was no easy explanation left.

Jake leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the concrete. A small line of ants trailed across the edge of his shoe. He watched them for a moment, focusing on the mindless order of their movement, anything but the tightness building in his chest.

Heeseung and Jungwon weren’t a thing. They never were.

He swallowed hard. The air suddenly felt heavier, too still.

He didn’t know when it started, that flicker of something he couldn’t name. Maybe it was back in the lab, when their argument dissolved into silence that felt too fragile to touch. Or maybe before that, during one of those late study sessions when Heeseung’s patience wore thin but his tone never did.

He remembered that, the quiet steadiness, the way Heeseung’s voice softened when he explained something for the third time, the faint crease that appeared between his brows when he was concentrating.

Jake used to find it infuriating.

Now, he wasn’t sure what to call it.

He rubbed at his eyes. “Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath.

A couple of students passed by, whispering, their laughter small and quick. Jake didn’t need to hear the words to know what they were about. He’d seen the way people looked at him lately, not unkind, exactly, just curious.

Heeseung’s name floated in too many of those glances.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

What did Sunoo say?

Maybe it’s time you stop looking for reasons to hate him.

Jake had tried. He really had. But every time he thought he was done competing, something would happen, a test score, a teacher’s praise, a passing comment and that sharp edge would come back.

Because if he didn’t keep chasing, didn’t keep proving himself, what else would he be?

He was Sim Jake. The challenger. The one who refused to fall behind.

But sitting there, under the pale morning light, that identity felt thin, like a borrowed jacket that no longer fit.

He closed his eyes, and suddenly it wasn’t the rivalry he saw. It was Heeseung again.

The way his eyes softened when he was listening. The quiet laugh that escaped him that day in the library, barely audible but real enough to leave an echo. The way his fingers brushed Jake’s wrist when they both reached for the same beaker in the lab, the kind of accidental contact that shouldn’t have mattered but did, because Jake remembered it now.

He pressed his palms together, a small, sharp exhale slipping out.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He was supposed to outwork Heeseung, not think about him. He was supposed to beat him, not remember how his voice sounded when he said Jake’s name like it meant something more than a challenge.

Jake opened his eyes again. The sunlight had shifted slightly, sliding lower across the courtyard, painting everything in gold.

The truth wasn’t hiding. It never was.

He just hadn’t wanted to see it.

He leaned back, shoulders brushing the bench, gaze drifting up to the glass windows of the science building. Somewhere behind them, Heeseung was probably sitting through class, neat handwriting, quiet focus, unaware of the chaos he’d left behind in Jake’s chest.

The thought almost made Jake smile. Almost.

He tilted his head, watching a bird land on the railing nearby, feathers catching the light. There was something strangely grounding about it, ordinary, unbothered.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, he felt the tension ease a little. Not gone, but lighter.

He wasn’t ready to name what he felt. Not yet.

But for once, he didn’t want to run from it either.

The next class bell rang faintly from somewhere across the building, the sound echoing through the empty courtyard. Jake didn’t move right away. He stared at the bird on the railing until it flew off, wings slicing the air in one clean motion.

He stood, slinging his bag higher on his shoulder. The weight of it was familiar, comforting in a way. His steps felt unhurried now, still heavy, but not the same kind of heavy as before.

As he crossed the courtyard, a group of students walked past, laughing. He caught the tail end of a sentence, Heeseung’s name again, but this time, it didn’t sting. It just… passed through him, leaving no mark.

When he reached the hallway, the shift in air hit him, the faint hum of fluorescent lights, the echo of shoes against linoleum, the smell of paper and chalk dust. Ordinary things, but grounding.

He turned the corner toward his classroom and almost stopped.

Heeseung was there, standing just outside the door, head tilted slightly as he spoke with a teacher. His posture was straight, respectful, but relaxed, the easy composure Jake could never seem to mimic no matter how hard he tried.

For a second, Jake thought about walking the other way.

Old habit.

But Heeseung glanced up before he could decide, their eyes meeting.

It wasn’t long, just a second, but it was enough.

Heeseung’s expression flickered, surprise first, then something softer. He said a quick goodbye to the teacher and took a step closer.

“Hey,” Heeseung said quietly.

Jake swallowed. “Hey.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. The hallway felt too wide, too bright.

“You missed half the period,” Heeseung said, tone light, not scolding.

“Yeah,” Jake murmured. “Got caught up in something.”

Heeseung nodded, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did.

The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t tense this time. Just careful.

Heeseung shifted slightly, one hand brushing the strap of his bag. “You doing okay?”

Jake hesitated, then nodded once. “I think so.”

It was the truth, or close enough to it.

Heeseung studied him for a moment longer, not suspicious, just thoughtful, then gave a small, barely-there smile. “Good.”

Something in Jake’s chest eased.

They both stepped back at the same time, awkwardly synchronized, which made Heeseung laugh under his breath. The sound was quiet, genuine.

Jake found himself smiling too. Not the forced kind he’d been using all week, but something real, something lighter.

When they walked into class, side by side, Jake noticed how the room seemed less sharp than before, less full of eyes, less heavy with rumor. Maybe nothing had changed. Maybe everything had.

Heeseung took his seat by the window, sunlight pooling over his desk. He opened his notebook, pen tapping softly against the page.

Jake sat down two rows away. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to compete.

He just watched, not long, not enough for anyone to notice, but long enough for the moment to settle quietly between them.

The teacher’s voice began at the front of the room, steady and distant, words Jake barely caught.

He looked down at his own notebook, blank page open, pen poised above it.

And then, slowly, he wrote the date at the top.

For once, that was enough.

Outside, the sun climbed higher, light glancing off the windows and spilling across the desks like something new.

It wasn’t peace exactly. But it was close.

And as Jake’s pen moved, steady and sure, he realized maybe this, the slow unwinding, the fragile quiet, was its own kind of start.

Chapter Text

“He didn’t mean to shout it. But for once, the truth was louder than his pride.”

The sound of rain against the classroom windows was steady and cold. It had started sometime during last period, drumming softly over the campus like a warning no one paid attention to.

Most of the students had already left. The hallways were quiet now, that strange after-school quiet that made every sound sharper, more personal.

Jake stayed behind, sitting at his desk with his hands clenched around his pen. He’d told Sunoo and Sunghoon to go ahead. Said he had to finish his notes. That was a lie.

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, only that his chest felt too tight, and his thoughts kept circling back to the same face.

Heeseung.

He’d been avoiding him again, though he didn’t mean to. Every time he tried to act normal, the words came out wrong, or too cold, or not enough. Heeseung’s patience, once comforting, had started to feel unbearable.

So when the door slid open behind him, Jake already knew who it was.

“Jake,” Heeseung said quietly.

The word hung in the air like an echo.

Jake didn’t turn around. “What do you want?”

Heeseung stepped closer, his shoes squeaking faintly against the clean tile. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes, there is,” Heeseung said, firmer this time. “You’ve been acting strange since last week. You barely look at me, you leave before I can say anything–”

“Maybe I just don’t feel like talking to you,” Jake muttered.

Heeseung went still. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jake finally looked up, his gaze sharp, tired. “It means stop pretending you don’t know what people are saying.”

“What?”

“The rumor,” Jake snapped. “You think I don’t hear it? Everyone’s been whispering about us since the lab. That we–” He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

Heeseung’s brows drew together. “Jake, I didn’t start that. You know I didn’t.”

“I didn’t say you did,” Jake said, voice low, bitter. “But you didn’t do anything to stop it either.”

Heeseung stared at him. “What was I supposed to do? Announce to the whole school that we didn’t–”

“That you didn’t what?” Jake interrupted. “That you didn’t actually care?”

The silence that followed was heavy, jagged.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, the calm edge slipping from his voice. “You think that’s what this is? That I don’t care?”

Jake laughed once, short, humorless. “You’re good at pretending, Heeseung. You always have been. Perfect grades, perfect smiles. You act like nothing touches you.”

“That’s not fair,” Heeseung said quietly.

“It’s true.” Jake stood, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “You walk around like you’re above it all, like I’m just some– some rival you can fix whenever it’s convenient for you.”

Heeseung’s expression hardened. “That’s what you think I’m doing?”

“What else am I supposed to think?”

Heeseung’s voice rose, the first crack of real anger breaking through. “Maybe you could’ve asked me instead of assuming everything!”

Jake flinched but didn’t back down. “Maybe you could’ve told me instead of pretending everything was fine!”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The rain outside had grown louder, echoing off the glass like a heartbeat.

Heeseung stepped closer, his eyes burning with something between frustration and hurt. “You think I don’t notice you pulling away? You think I don’t see it every time you look at me like I’m– like I’m the problem?”

Jake’s throat tightened. “You are the problem!”

Heeseung’s breath caught, the words landing harder than Jake meant them to.

He wanted to take them back, he really did, but pride stopped him. His heart was hammering too fast to stop now.

Heeseung shook his head, voice trembling for the first time. “You really think that, don’t you?”

Jake swallowed, unable to answer.

Something in Heeseung’s face crumpled. He took a shaky breath, grabbed his bag from the desk, and turned toward the door.

“I’m done trying, Jake.”

The words were quiet but final.

Jake’s hand twitched at his side. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

Heeseung didn’t look back as he stepped out into the hall. The door slid shut behind him with a soft, heavy click.

Jake stood there, staring at the empty doorway, his chest hollow and burning all at once.

The rain kept falling.

And for the first time, he realized he didn’t know how to fix this.

For a long time after Heeseung left, Jake didn’t move.

The clock ticked somewhere behind him, steady and cruel, marking every second that passed in silence. The rain had eased to a soft drizzle, but it only made the quiet heavier.

He finally sank back into his chair, pressing a hand over his face. His throat felt raw, his chest tight, like he’d shouted too much, felt too much, and still hadn’t said what really mattered.

He replayed the argument in his head, over and over, each line worse than the last. The anger, the look in Heeseung’s eyes before he turned away.

“I’m done trying.”

Jake dropped his hand to the desk and stared at his open notebook. The ink had smudged where his sleeve had brushed across it, the words unreadable.

He wasn’t sure when he started shaking, only that the air felt too thin, too warm.

The door creaked open behind him.

“Jake?”

Sunoo’s voice, soft but hesitant.

Jake didn’t answer.

Sunoo stepped in, followed by Sunghoon, who glanced around the empty classroom like he was expecting to see someone else.

“Where’s Heeseung?” Sunghoon asked quietly.

Jake didn’t look up. “Gone.”

The word came out small, almost like a confession.

Sunoo exchanged a quick glance with Sunghoon, then crossed the room and crouched beside Jake’s desk. “Hey,” he said gently. “What happened?”

Jake tried to laugh, but it caught halfway. “Nothing. Just another argument.”

“Sounded like more than that,” Sunghoon said, his voice calm but careful.

Jake’s fingers tightened around his pen until it snapped in half. Ink bled onto his palm. He didn’t even flinch.

“I said something I shouldn’t have,” he murmured.

Sunoo frowned, grabbing a tissue from his bag and handing it to him. “Jake, that’s not new. You always say things you don’t mean when you’re upset.”

Jake took it without meeting his eyes. “Yeah. But this time, I think I meant it.”

Sunghoon leaned against the desk beside him, arms crossed. “You told him he’s the problem, didn’t you?”

Jake froze. “How did you–”

“Because that’s what you always do when you’re scared,” Sunghoon said, not unkindly. “You push people away before they can do it first.”

Sunoo’s expression softened. “Jake… what are you really scared of?”

Jake opened his mouth, but the words tangled on his tongue. He didn’t even know where to start.

Heeseung’s face kept flashing through his mind, the sharpness of his voice, the hurt in his eyes. The way he’d said Jake’s name like it still meant something.

Jake looked down at his ink-stained hands. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “He just– he gets under my skin. He makes me angry. He makes me feel–” He stopped, exhaling sharply.

Sunghoon raised a brow. “Makes you feel what?”

Jake shook his head. “Forget it.”

Sunoo sighed, folding his arms. “You’re not angry at him,” he said softly. “You’re angry because you care, and it’s confusing.”

Jake looked up, startled.

Sunoo met his gaze, unflinching. “Because you’ve built this whole thing between you two– rivalry, pride, whatever you want to call it, and now it’s not just that anymore. And that scares you.”

The silence that followed felt like a shift, small, but real.

Jake wanted to deny it. He really did. But his heart was already pounding too hard.

Sunghoon pushed off the desk with a sigh. “So, what are you going to do now? Sit here and feel sorry for yourself, or actually fix it?”

Jake blinked. “Fix it? After that?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon said. “Because he still walked away upset, not indifferent. That means there’s something left to fix.”

Sunoo smiled faintly. “And maybe it’s time you stopped pretending you don’t want to.”

Jake stared at them both, his thoughts a mess.

He wanted to argue. To retreat behind sarcasm, like always. But when he tried, the words wouldn’t come.

Because for the first time, he knew they were right.

He wasn’t angry because of Heeseung’s perfection or his calmness. He wasn’t angry because Heeseung made things easy.

He was angry because Heeseung mattered.

And Jake had no idea what to do with that.

The hallways were almost empty by the time Jake stepped outside.

The rain had slowed to a mist, the kind that clung to the air and soaked his uniform without him realizing. His shoes squeaked faintly against the linoleum as he walked, then ran, down one corridor after another.

He didn’t even know where he was going.

All he knew was that he couldn’t leave things like this.

Not after the look on Heeseung’s face, the way his voice had broken on that last line.

Not after realizing, finally, what it all meant.

Jake checked the library first. The lights were still on, but the librarian shook her head when he asked.

“Lee Heeseung? I think he left earlier,” she said. “He looked upset.”

Jake’s chest twisted. “Thanks.”

He jogged toward the science wing next, peering into the empty lab rooms one by one. The smell of chemical cleaner still lingered in the air. Every desk, every beaker, looked too neat, too still.

He half-expected to find Heeseung sitting somewhere, hunched over his notes like always, calm, steady, untouchable.

But every room was empty.

The rain picked up again as he pushed out through the side door into the courtyard. The wind tugged at his hair, his uniform clinging to his shoulders.

He thought of their first real fight, weeks ago, when Heeseung had said, You don’t have to beat me to matter.

He hadn’t understood then.

He did now.

He ran toward the dorm building, ignoring the stares from a few late students still lingering near the gates. His bag thumped against his hip. His heartbeat drowned out everything else.

Heeseung wasn’t in the dorm common room either. Jake checked the upper floor, knocking on doors, earning confused looks and murmured replies.

“Sorry, haven’t seen him.”

“Wasn’t he with you earlier?”

“I think he left campus.”

That last one made Jake stop cold.

Left campus.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket, his fingers slippery with rain. No messages, no missed calls.

He hesitated, then scrolled to the one name that made sense.

Jay.

He pressed call before he could talk himself out of it.

The line rang once, twice–

“Jake?” Jay’s voice came through, warm and confused. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Jay, do you know where Heeseung lives?”

There was a pause. “Why? Did something happen?”

Jake dragged a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Kind of. Please, just– just tell me.”

Jay hesitated again, but his tone softened. “He lives near the river, past the old bookstore. Apartment 402, second building on the right. You can’t miss it.”

Jake exhaled shakily. “Thanks, man.”

“Jake,” Jay said, voice gentle now, “whatever this is, don’t make it worse, okay?”

Jake nodded even though Jay couldn’t see him. “I won’t.”

He hung up before he could lose his nerve.

By the time he reached the gates, the rain was heavier again. The air smelled of wet pavement and pine. His uniform clung to him, collar soaked through, but he didn’t stop.

He didn’t even grab an umbrella.

Heeseung’s name kept echoing in his head, over and over, like a mantra, like an apology that hadn’t yet found its voice.

He didn’t know what he was going to say when he found him, if Heeseung would even listen.

But he knew one thing for certain.

He couldn’t go home tonight without trying.

The streets near the river were quiet, slick with rain and the soft orange glow of old street lamps. Water pooled in the cracks of the pavement, rippling under every step Jake took.

Heeseung’s apartment building came into view, narrow, unremarkable, with ivy creeping up one side and light spilling faintly from a few windows on the second floor.

Jake stopped at the gate for a second, his breath visible in the cool air. His heart was still racing, every thought a tangle of regret and adrenaline.

He didn’t know what he was going to say. He just knew he couldn’t turn back.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, shoes squeaking against the wet metal. When he reached the door marked 402, he hesitated only a heartbeat before knocking.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

For a moment, nothing.

Then he heard footsteps, slow and deliberate, and the door clicked open.

Heeseung stood there, hair damp like he’d just showered, a plain white t-shirt hanging loose on his frame. He froze when he saw Jake, rain-soaked, breathless, eyes wild.

“Jake?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “What are you–”

“I like you.”

The words burst out before Jake could stop them. Too fast, too loud. His chest heaved as he spoke, the rain dripping from his hair, down his collar.

Heeseung blinked, clearly thrown off. “What?”

“I said I like you,” Jake repeated, his voice rough, unsteady. “I– I didn’t mean what I said earlier, okay? I didn’t mean any of it. You’re not the problem. I am.”

Heeseung stared at him, lips parted but no sound coming out.

Jake stepped closer, fists clenched at his sides. “You make me crazy, Heeseung. You make me feel like I’m never good enough, like I can’t catch up, but– but it’s not because I hate you. It’s because I–” He exhaled sharply, searching for the words. “Because I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time, and I didn’t even realize it until today.”

Heeseung’s expression flickered, shock, disbelief, something softer underneath.

“Jake…”

“I know,” Jake said quickly, voice breaking. “You probably don’t want to hear this. I messed everything up, and you probably hate me right now, but I couldn’t just let you walk away. I had to say it. I had to–”

“Jake.”

Heeseung’s voice was firmer now, cutting through the rush of words.

Jake stopped.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the rain against the roof, slow and steady.

Heeseung stepped forward, his eyes searching Jake’s face– for honesty, maybe, or courage. “You really mean that?”

Jake nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Heeseung’s gaze softened just slightly. He opened his mouth to speak–

But Jake didn’t let him.

He closed the space between them in one breath, one heartbeat, one impossible decision and kissed him.

It wasn’t neat or practiced. It was desperate, clumsy, soaked with rain and everything he hadn’t been able to say. His hand caught Heeseung’s sleeve like he was afraid he might disappear.

For a moment, Heeseung went still– then exhaled, quiet and shaking, as his fingers brushed Jake’s waist.

The kiss was over almost as soon as it began, but the silence that followed felt impossibly loud.

Jake stepped back a little, breath uneven. “Sorry,” he said softly. “I just– I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.”

Heeseung’s eyes lingered on him, wide, unreadable, but not angry. Not cold.

He reached up slowly, brushing a raindrop from Jake’s cheek with his thumb. “You’re freezing,” he murmured.

Jake almost laughed. “Kind of fits the mood.”

Heeseung’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile. Then he sighed, stepping aside. “Come inside before you catch a cold.”

Jake hesitated. “Is that– is that a yes?”

Heeseung gave him a look, half exasperated, half something else entirely. “Just come in, Jake.”

Jake obeyed, heart pounding as he stepped over the threshold, the warmth of the apartment wrapping around him.

Heeseung closed the door behind them with a quiet click.

Neither spoke for a long moment.

Jake stood there, dripping onto the floor, watching as Heeseung turned away to grab a towel from the counter. The faint sound of rain through the open window filled the silence between them.

When Heeseung handed him the towel, their fingers brushed, barely, but enough to make Jake’s chest tighten again.

He looked up, meeting Heeseung’s eyes. “You didn’t push me away.”

Heeseung held his gaze for a moment, then said softly, “I should’ve.”

Jake swallowed. “But you didn’t.”

Heeseung sighed. “No. I didn’t.”

The corner of Jake’s mouth lifted. “Guess that’s a start.”

Heeseung shook his head, but the faint smile that broke through gave him away. “You’re impossible, Sim Jake.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, voice quiet but sure. “But you still opened the door.”

For once, Heeseung didn’t have a comeback.

He just looked at him, really looked and Jake knew something had shifted.

Something neither of them could take back now.

Chapter Text

“It took me losing my courage to finally see that you were already holding mine.”

The apartment was quiet except for the soft patter of rain against the window. Jake stood there, towel clutched to his chest, heart still hammering from the way Heeseung had looked at him, just moments ago.

He could feel his pulse beating at the base of his throat, in the tips of his fingers, in the space where his lips had just touched Heeseung’s. The realization hit him too late and all at once, what he’d done, what he’d said, what he couldn’t take back.

Heeseung stood in front of him, shoulders tense. His hand had come halfway up, like he’d meant to reach for Jake but forgot how.

Neither of them spoke.

It was quiet enough to hear the soft hum of the refrigerator somewhere down the hall, the faint rustle of wind through the curtains.

Jake swallowed hard, his voice a little hoarse. “I– I didn’t plan to do that.”

Heeseung blinked, slowly, still staring at him. “You don’t say.”

That dry, steady tone, it almost made Jake laugh. Almost. But his throat was too tight.

He looked away. “I’m sorry. I just–”

Heeseung stepped closer. Not much, just enough for Jake to notice the faint warmth that came with him. “Don’t apologize.”

Jake froze.

“I mean it,” Heeseung said softly. “Don’t.”

Jake’s gaze flicked up, searching his face. “You’re not angry?”

Heeseung exhaled, a small, breathy sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I think I used up all my anger about twenty minutes ago.”

The corner of Jake’s mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile. “Yeah. Same.”

They both stood there, uncertain, until Heeseung moved first. He gestured toward the couch. “Sit? Unless you plan to just… stand there all night.”

Jake hesitated, then followed. He sank into the cushion, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Heeseung sat at the other end, not too far, but not too close. A cautious distance.

The silence between them wasn’t sharp anymore. It was softer now, like a space waiting to be filled.

Jake ran a hand through his hair. “About what I said…”

Heeseung tilted his head. “That you like me?”

Jake’s breath caught. “Yeah. That.”

Heeseung hummed quietly, like he was turning the words over in his mind. “You said it like you’d been holding it in for a while.”

“I was,” Jake admitted. “I just didn’t realize until it was too late.”

Heeseung’s eyes softened. “Too late?”

Jake looked at him then, really looked, the faint shadows under Heeseung’s eyes, the way his expression was so careful it almost hurt. “You always looked like you had everything figured out. Like I was just… chasing you.”

Heeseung’s voice was gentle. “You weren’t chasing me, Jake.”

“Then what was I doing?”

Heeseung hesitated, then said quietly, “Trying to keep up with someone who never asked you to run.”

Jake’s breath hitched.

It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even a consolation. It was just the truth, simple and unguarded.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them wasn’t electric anymore, it was heavy with something else. Understanding. Relief. Maybe even peace.

Heeseung shifted slightly, turning toward him. “Jake.”

Jake looked up.

Heeseung’s voice dropped, soft enough that Jake almost missed it. “Can I kiss you?”

Jake stared at him for a while, surprised, before he replied. “Yes…”

The space between them disappeared.

This time, it wasn’t desperate or loud. It was slow, certain, quiet, the kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove anything. The kind that simply existed because it finally could, Heeseung's hands came up to rest on Jake's hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the soft skin.

And when the world began to blur at the edges, the light dimming around them, it wasn’t the chaos of a storm anymore.

It was the warmth that comes after, gentle, steady, enough.

They kissed like that for a long time, slow, deep, tender. Each press of lips was a promise, a reassurance. This is real. This is you and me.

When they finally broke apart, it was with a mutual sigh. They stared at each other for a long moment, breathing each other in. Jake's heart felt full to bursting.

Jake swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

“Heeseung…”

“Yes?”

He shook his head, biting his lip. “Nothing. I just... I'm really happy right now.”

Heeseung smiled, bright and joyful. “I'm really happy too.”

Jake reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Heeseung's ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the line of his jaw, his cheekbone.

Heeseung leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“Hyung…”

“Yes?” Heeseung asked back after a while, looking surprised at the use of honorifics, his voice coming out as a whisper.

“Can I…?” Jake said. His eyes dropping to Heeseung's lap then back up to his face.

Heeseung's eyes opened to meet his gaze, His gaze softening when the meaning of Jake's words finally sank in. “Are you sure?”

Jake's breath caught, desire pooling low in his belly. “Yes,” he breathed. “Please.”

Heeseung took his hand, tugging him on his lap, his hands sliding down to hold Jake's waist under his uniform.

Jake's eyes widened as he felt Heeseung's own erection meeting his.

“We don't have to do anything you don't want to.” Heeseung murmured, after catching Jake's wide eyes. He cupped Jake's face in his hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “You lead the pace, okay…?”

Jake's eyes stung with unshed tears. “Okay…” he whispered back.

Heeseung smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Jake's mouth. Then another, and another.

As Jake sat on Heeseung's lap, his heart raced with anticipation. He could feel the bulge in Heeseung's pants pressing against his own arousal. They looked into each other's eyes, their breathing growing heavier by the second.

Their lips met again, and Jake began to grind his hips against Heeseung's clothed erection, moaning softly into the kiss. Heeseung's hands wandered up to Jake's necktie, messing it up slightly as they explored each other's bodies.

Their bodies moved in sync, the rhythm of their grinding becoming faster and more intense. Sweat began to bead on their foreheads as they lost themselves in the moment.

“Hyung…” Jake called out, the word coming out more as a whine than anything.

Heeseung let out a low moan at the sound, thrusting his hips against Jake's own as he kissed a slow path down Jake's neck, dipping lower to press open-mouthed kisses to his collarbones.

Jake shivered, hands coming up to tangle in Heeseung's hair, pulling on it without meaning to.

The heat between them grew more intense with each passing moment. Heeseung's hands wandered lower, brushing against the bulge in Jake's pants.

Jake let out a sharp gasp, arching his back as Heeseung's fingers pressed against his clothed erection. "Oh god," he whispered, his voice trembling.

Heeseung chuckled softly, a small grin on his face. "This okay?" he asked, his fingers continuing to rub against Jake's bulge.

Jake could only nod, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost himself in the sensations. Heeseung's other hand came up to unbutton Jake's shirt, his fingers trailing along Jake's chest and stomach.

Jake's breathing grew heavier, his hips thrusting up into Heeseung's touch. Heeseung leaned in, his lips brushing against Jake's ear. "That's it, you're doing so good," he whispered, his voice low.

Jake whimpered, his hands now gripping Heeseung's shoulders. "Please," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hyung- I'm-” Jake cried out trying to let the older know that he was close, unable to form any other words as another moan followed.

Heeseung's hands went up to his waist again, his grip tight, and pressed him down harder. “I know Jaeyun…come for me baby.”

Jake didn't even bother to ask how he knew his birth name, too dazed that the only thing coming out of his mouth were blabbers of Heeseung's name.

With a cry, Jake came, his body shuddering with pleasure. He leaned forward, panting heavily as he let his forehead drop on Heeseung's shoulder, "Fuck," he murmured.

Heeseung followed shortly after, letting his orgasm take over him as he let out a low groan.

They sat there, on the couch, pants stained with their release, Jake's head nuzzling closer between Heeseung's neck.

The latter began running his hand through Jake's sweaty hair, gently pulling him closer. Their chests heaved together, still catching their breath from the intense encounter.

“I've never felt like this before.” Heeseung whispered, his voice rough with emotion. 

Jake hummed in agreement, moving his head to rest his cheek against Heeseung's chest. "Neither have I," he murmured. "I didn't know it could be like this."

They sat there in silence, wrapped up in each other's arms. Outside the window, the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange. It was a beautiful moment, one they could not forget.

As darkness fell, Heeseung pulled Jake up to his bathroom for a shower, helping him out of his clothes, before starting the water.

The sound of water filled the silence.

Steam curled through the small bathroom, clinging to the walls and their skin. Jake stood under the shower, the faint ache in his limbs replaced by warmth that felt almost unreal.

Heeseung adjusted the temperature, and Jake caught the faint reflection of them in the fogged mirror, two silhouettes, close but quiet.

Now, with the water rinsing away the traces of what had just been shared, Jake couldn’t meet his eyes. His chest was still tight, but not from nerves, from something gentler.

Heeseung reached for the shampoo, voice low, steady. “Close your eyes.”

Jake obeyed, and Heeseung’s fingers threaded through his hair, slow, tender, careful in a way that made Jake’s breath falter.

“You don’t have to be so tense,” Heeseung murmured.

Jake laughed softly, shyly. “Kind of hard not to be.”

Heeseung’s touch paused for a second, then resumed, steady, reassuring. He rinsed the foam out before handing Jake the body wash.

“Your turn.”

Jake hesitated, then lifted his still trembling hands to spread the soap across Heeseung’s shoulders. Their closeness made his pulse flutter again, but this time, it felt safe. Familiar. Like something new, and right.

When he finished, Heeseung turned to face him, water running down his face in thin, glimmering lines. Jake looked down quickly, shy again, until–

“Jaeyun,” Heeseung said quietly.

Jake’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “…What did you just call me?”

Heeseung blinked, almost startled by his own boldness, then smiled faintly. “Jaeyun. That’s your name, right?”

Jake nodded slowly, surprise flickering through his features. “Yeah, but– how do you know that?”

“I heard the teacher call you that once,” Heeseung said, voice soft, like he didn’t want to disturb the moment. “It just… stayed with me.”

Jake’s breath caught. Something about the way Heeseung said it, gentle, certain, made his heart feel too full.

“And you remembered,” he whispered.

Heeseung’s smile deepened, eyes soft. “Of course I did.”

The water continued to fall between them, quiet and warm. Then–

“Jaeyun,” Heeseung said again, this time slower, like he was trying the name out, like it meant something more.

“I like you too.”

Jake froze, blinking up at him, water dripping from his lashes.

Heeseung stepped closer, brushing a droplet from Jake’s cheek with his thumb.

“You didn’t need to be nervous,” he said softly. “I’ve liked you for a while.”

Jake’s lips parted, voice barely above the sound of the shower. “You have?”

Heeseung nodded. “Yeah.”

Jake let out a small, breathy laugh, cheeks flushed. He ducked his head, the corners of his mouth curling up even as his eyes glistened.

Heeseung reached for his hand, threading their fingers together under the running water.

Neither of them said another word.

The world was all steam and heartbeats, the water washing over them as softly as the confession itself, two names, two hearts, finally spoken aloud.

Chapter Text

“It wasn’t about the confession anymore. It was about everything that came quietly after.”

Morning filtered through the curtains in thin stripes of gold.

Jake blinked awake to the soft quiet of an unfamiliar room, the faint hum of the air-con, the smell of something faintly citrus from the detergent Heeseung used on his sheets.

For a few seconds he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for his mind to catch up to his body.

Then the memories returned, the argument, the confession, the kiss, and what came after that, his stomach did a slow somersault.

He turned his head.

Heeseung was still asleep beside him, one arm flung carelessly over the blanket, the other half-buried beneath the pillow. Without the sharp focus that always seemed to surround him at school, he looked softer.

Jake caught himself tracing the line of his jaw with his eyes, the way the morning light made the curve of his lashes almost shimmer.

How is he real?

Jake let out a quiet breath that almost counted as a laugh, then reached for his phone on the bedside table. The screen lit up with missed calls; five from Sunghoon, four from Sunoo, one from Jay.

He winced. “Great.”

Slipping out of bed as quietly as he could, Jake padded to the small living room and hit Sunghoon’s name. It only rang once.

“Jake!” Sunghoon’s voice came through immediately, exasperated. “Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, about that–”

“Tell me you didn’t get murdered by your academic rival,” Sunoo’s voice chimed in from somewhere near Sunghoon’s phone.

Jake blinked. “You’re both there?”

“It’s damage control hour,” Sunghoon muttered. “We thought we’d have to file a missing-person report.”

Jake’s lips twitched. “I’m fine. Actually, things are… good.”

There was a pause on the line, then a collective gasp.

Sunoo practically squealed. “Good? Like, good good?”

“Sunoo,” Sunghoon groaned.

Jake rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Just– don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

“That depends entirely on what it is,” Sunoo said, his tone sing-song.

“Bye, Sunoo,” Jake said, and hung up before they could pry further.

He tucked the phone away and wandered to the kitchen. It was small but tidy, typical Heeseung. He opened a few cupboards until he found a packet of ramen and a single egg in the fridge.

“Guess that’ll do.”

As the water boiled, he leaned against the counter, watching the bubbles rise and catching himself smiling for no reason. Everything felt… light. Uncertain, yes, but light in a way he hadn’t felt in weeks.

He was just stirring the noodles when something warm brushed against his back.

He jerked in surprise. “Whoa–”

A low chuckle sounded near his ear. “Relax. It’s just me.”

Heeseung’s arms looped lazily around his waist, his chin resting on Jake’s shoulder. He was still half-asleep, hair a mess, voice rough with sleep.

Jake’s heart stumbled. “You–You can’t just sneak up like that.”

“I didn’t sneak,” Heeseung murmured. “You just weren’t paying attention.”

Jake tried for a glare but it came out softer than intended. “You hungry?”

Heeseung nodded against his shoulder. “Smells good.”

Jake snorted. “It’s instant ramen.”

“Still smells good.”

They stood like that for a moment, the steam curling between them, their breathing finding the same slow rhythm. When the timer beeped, Heeseung finally loosened his hold, murmuring something about grabbing bowls, and Jake found himself smiling into the rising steam.

Across town, Sunghoon set his phone down on the coffee table, still frowning.

“He sounded… different,” he said quietly.

Sunoo stretched out beside him, stealing his blanket. “Different how?”

“Calm. Like someone who finally stopped running.”

Sunoo tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Then maybe he finally caught up.”

Sunghoon glanced at him, at the sunlight spilling across the couch, and couldn’t help smiling back. “Maybe we all will.”

Sunoo laughed softly, tucking his feet under the blanket. “Bold of you to assume I’m running from anything.”

“Please,” Sunghoon said dryly, “you run from deadlines every week.”

Their laughter filled the quiet room, light and easy, the sound of morning finding its way back.

The ramen was gone by the time Jake finally stopped grinning.

It wasn’t even that funny, Heeseung had just accused him of “murdering the egg yolk” with his chopsticks, but the teasing had felt normal. Familiar. Too easy.

Jake rinsed the bowls while Heeseung leaned against the counter, still in a rumpled shirt, watching him like he was trying to memorize every small movement.

The air between them was comfortable now, something softer than silence.

“You always eat like that?” Jake asked, nodding at the now-empty pot.

“Like what?” Heeseung raised an eyebrow.

“Like you haven’t seen food in days.”

Heeseung chuckled. “You try surviving on vending machine sandwiches during exam prep week and see how you do.”

Jake laughed under his breath. “So that’s your secret to top ranks.”

“That,” Heeseung said, turning toward him, “and getting under your skin.”

Jake looked up, startled, then realized the faint smile on Heeseung’s face.

There it was again. That easy confidence, the thing that used to drive him crazy.

Except now, it just made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite name.

They left the apartment together. Jake had insisted on going first, something about “not wanting people to think weird things”, but Heeseung had simply shrugged, slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed.

Outside, the city felt freshly awake, distant car horns, shop shutters rattling open, the crisp morning chill that clung to their uniforms.

They walked side by side, neither saying much at first.

Jake kicked a pebble along the sidewalk, trying to look anywhere but at Heeseung.

He’d thought last night would make things easier, somehow it only made every glance, every brush of air between them, feel electric.

“You’re quiet,” Heeseung said finally.

Jake shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

Jake shot him a look. “Hyung.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop being annoying this early in the morning.”

Heeseung smiled, slow and unapologetic. “No promises, Jaeyun.”

Jake blinked. Every time Heeseung said his Korean name, it landed somewhere deep in his chest.

He didn’t know why it sounded different coming from him, softer, personal.

Like it wasn’t just a name but a secret only Heeseung got to use.

They turned a corner toward the school gates, where students were already streaming in.

The early sun caught on the metal fence, glinting between their joined shadows.

And then, without warning, Heeseung reached out.

His hand brushed Jake’s, then stayed there, warm and steady.

Jake froze mid-step. “H– Hyung?”

Heeseung didn’t even glance at him. “You walk too fast,” he said simply.

Jake’s heart tripped over itself. “That’s not– I mean–”

But Heeseung just squeezed his hand lightly, a quiet it’s fine, and kept walking.

Jake could feel the curious stares of a few students passing by, the whispers, but Heeseung didn’t seem to care.

His calm was infuriating and comforting all at once.

By the time they reached the front doors, Jake wasn’t sure if his hands were warm because of the weather or because Heeseung hadn’t let go.

In the classroom, whispers hovered like flies.

Someone muttered “lab partners” under their breath; someone else laughed too loudly.

Jake wanted to melt into the floor.

Heeseung, of course, looked completely unbothered. He sat down, unpacked his pens, and glanced at Jake like nothing in the world was unusual.

Sunghoon arrived first, raising an eyebrow as soon as he saw them.

“Morning,” he said slowly. “You two look… coordinated.”

Jake scowled. “Don’t start.”

Sunoo slipped in behind him, eyes bright with mischief. “Oh, I’m definitely starting.”

“Sunoo,” Jake warned.

“What?” Sunoo grinned. “You look like someone who got at least eight hours of sleep and emotional clarity. It’s suspicious.”

Heeseung’s shoulders shook with a quiet laugh. “You’re observant.”

Sunoo turned to him sweetly. “And you’re smug.”

“I’ve earned it,” Heeseung said simply.

Jake groaned. “Hyung.”

Sunghoon smirked. “Hyung, huh? That’s new.”

Jake buried his face in his hands while Sunoo gasped dramatically.

“Oh my god, he called him hyung– he called him hyung!”

“Sunoo,” Jake said into his palms, voice muffled, “I swear I’ll throw my textbook at you.”

“Violence,” Sunghoon said mildly. “Classic denial tactic.”

Heeseung only smiled, flipping open his notes. “Let them talk, Jaeyun.”

Jake peeked up at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

By lunchtime, the gossip had shifted toward some other poor victim, and Jake was finally able to breathe again.

He and Heeseung ended up sitting together by the window, the sunlight falling in uneven patches across their table.

“Here,” Heeseung said, sliding over a kimbap roll.

Jake blinked. “I can feed myself.”

“I know,” Heeseung said, holding it closer, “but you won’t.”

Jake sighed but leaned forward anyway, taking the bite, and regretting it instantly when he heard Sunghoon choke somewhere behind them.

“Did he just–?!” Sunoo’s voice practically squeaked.

Jake turned, cheeks burning. “Don’t.”

“Too late,” Sunoo said gleefully. “This is going down in history.”

“Write an essay about it,” Jake muttered.

Sunghoon was still coughing into his drink. “I think I inhaled rice.”

Heeseung just smiled faintly, unfazed. “You okay, Sunghoon?”

“Not emotionally,” Sunghoon wheezed.

The rest of the day moved in a blur of small moments, Heeseung tapping his pen against Jake’s notebook when he drifted off in class, Jake kicking Heeseung’s foot lightly under the desk during study period, Sunoo making increasingly dramatic sighs whenever he caught them exchanging looks.

By the final bell, it almost felt normal.

“Hangout after school?” Sunghoon asked as they packed up.

“Rooftop?” Sunoo suggested. “Haven’t been there in ages.”

Jake hesitated, glancing at Heeseung.

Heeseung nodded. “Let’s go.”

The rooftop was half-bathed in sunset by the time they got there.

Wind tugged gently at the loose strands of Heeseung’s hair; Jake thought, absurdly, that he’d never looked more unreachable.

Sunoo and Sunghoon talked quietly in the corner, sharing snacks from the vending machine.

Jake leaned against the railing beside Heeseung, the last of the sun’s warmth brushing their faces.

“Feels different,” Jake said softly.

Heeseung glanced at him. “What does?”

“Everything. Us. School. Even the air feels… less heavy.”

Heeseung’s voice dropped. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

Jake nodded. “It’s good. It’s just…scary, too. Like, what if I mess this up?”

“You won’t,” Heeseung said simply.

Jake looked at him, the wind brushing between them. “How are you so sure?”

Heeseung smiled faintly. “Because you care enough to ask.”

Jake blinked. “That’s– that’s a really unfair answer, hyung.”

Heeseung laughed quietly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

For a long while, they just stood there, side by side, watching the sky turn gold to rose to violet.

And maybe it wasn’t a perfect day. Maybe there were still rumors and questions waiting for tomorrow.

But right then, in the space between their shared quiet, everything felt steady.

Down by the vending machine, Sunoo tossed a chip at Sunghoon’s shoulder.

“You think they’re gonna kiss again?”

Sunghoon caught it midair, smirking. “If they do, we’re not interrupting this time.”

“Aw, personal growth,” Sunoo teased.

“Shut up,” Sunghoon said, laughing despite himself.

They fell into an easy silence, their laughter soft against the hum of the evening.

Above them, Jake and Heeseung didn’t speak.

They didn’t have to.

The wind carried enough between them.

The sun was gone by the time they left the rooftop.

What was left of it shimmered faintly on the horizon, a smear of orange giving way to blue. The air smelled faintly like rain that hadn’t arrived yet.

Jake walked beside Heeseung through the quiet hallways, their footsteps echoing off the tile. Every now and then, Heeseung’s shoulder brushed his, casual and deliberate all at once.

Neither spoke until they reached the shoe lockers.

“You’re coming over, right?” Heeseung asked, voice low.

Jake hesitated, glancing up. “You sure you’re not sick of me yet?”

Heeseung tilted his head, smiling. “Not even close.”

Jake tried not to smile too obviously but failed. “Then yeah. I’ll come.”

The streets glowed softly under the streetlights, puddles reflecting gold from the lamps. They stopped once at a convenience store, where Jake insisted on paying for snacks, “since I ate all your ramen this morning” and Heeseung pretended to argue but didn’t really mean it.

Heeseung picked up a can of coffee; Jake grabbed a bottle of banana milk.

The cashier didn’t even blink at the sight of two boys quietly smiling at each other like the world had stopped spinning for a second.

On the walk back, Jake found himself watching Heeseung’s hand, the way his fingers swung slightly with each step. The urge to reach out again hit him, sharp and stupidly strong.

Heeseung must’ve noticed, because he slipped his hand into Jake’s like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jake’s breath caught. “You–”

Heeseung glanced sideways. “Still walking too fast.”

Jake’s lips parted in disbelief, then broke into a helpless laugh. “You’re impossible, hyung.”

“Mm,” Heeseung hummed, squeezing his hand. “And you like it.”

Jake rolled his eyes but didn’t let go.

Heeseung’s apartment felt smaller that night. Not physically, but in the kind of way that made it feel closer, filled with the faint smell of clean laundry and the sound of the rain finally starting to fall outside.

Jake kicked off his shoes and wandered to the window, watching the droplets trail down the glass. “Feels like forever since it rained.”

Heeseung hung his jacket, moving behind him quietly. “It’s been a long week.”

Jake smiled faintly. “You can say that again.”

Heeseung came to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

Outside, the city lights shimmered through the drizzle, tiny constellations reflected on wet pavement.

“You still think it’s scary?” Heeseung asked after a while.

Jake turned to him. “What is?”

“This. Us.”

Jake met his eyes. “A little.”

Heeseung nodded. “Me too.”

Jake blinked, surprised. “Really?”

Heeseung’s lips curved slightly. “I’m not as unshakable as you think, Jaeyun.”

Jake smiled softly. “Good. Makes me feel better.”

They stood there for a long moment, listening to the rain.

Then Heeseung spoke again, quieter this time. “You can stay the night, if you want.”

Jake looked up. “Hyung–”

“Just stay,” Heeseung said simply. “No pressure.”

Jake nodded once. “Okay.”

Later, they ended up on the couch, legs stretched out, the sound of rain filling the silence. A movie played in the background, something neither of them really watched.

Jake leaned against the armrest, half-distracted by how close Heeseung was sitting. The sleeve of Heeseung’s hoodie brushed against his wrist; their knees bumped occasionally.

Heeseung looked sideways. “You’re thinking too loud again.”

Jake huffed. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” Heeseung said softly, “I’m not.”

Jake turned to meet his gaze, and time seemed to slow.

The flicker of the TV light cast faint shadows across Heeseung’s face, highlighting the curve of his cheek, the way his eyes softened when he looked at Jake like that.

Jake’s voice came out a whisper. “Hyung?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

Heeseung smiled, slow and unhurried. “You started it.”

Jake’s pulse stumbled. “I–”

Heeseung leaned in, just close enough for Jake to feel the warmth of his breath. “Relax, Jaeyun. I’m not going to kiss you.”

Jake blinked. “You’re not?”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Not unless you ask.”

The words sat between them, weightless and heavy all at once.

Jake swallowed, his heart in his throat. He didn’t know if it was courage or recklessness when he whispered, “Then maybe I’m asking.”

Heeseung’s eyes flickered, something tender unfolding behind them. “Then maybe I’m listening.”

He leaned in.

Softly. Carefully.

The kiss wasn’t rushed this time, it was a slow, quiet thing, built from trust instead of chaos. Jake’s hands curled in Heeseung’s hoodie, pulling him closer until the space between them disappeared completely.

Outside, thunder murmured in the distance. Inside, the world felt small and safe and unbearably real.

The movie kept playing, forgotten. The rain didn’t stop.

And for the first time in months, Jake didn’t feel like he was running from anything.

Across town, Sunoo sat cross-legged on Sunghoon’s floor, scrolling through his phone with exaggerated sighs. “He’s not answering.”

Sunghoon, lying on his stomach beside him, flipped lazily through a magazine. “He’s fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “He sounded fine earlier.”

“That was earlier. What if they’re–” Sunoo stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. “Oh my god. What if they’re–”

“Sunoo.”

“I’m just saying!” Sunoo threw his hands up. “Jake’s first real crush, Heeseung’s mysterious apartment– this is peak drama.”

Sunghoon finally looked up, half-smiling. “You really need new hobbies.”

Sunoo flopped back on the floor with a groan. “Fine. But if he calls tomorrow and says something wild happened, I’m saying ‘I told you so.’”

“You always do,” Sunghoon muttered.

“Because I’m always right!”

“Debatable.”

Their bickering faded into laughter, filling the small room like it always did.

Outside, the same rain that fell over Heeseung’s window pattered softly against Sunghoon’s.

Different places, same storm.

And somewhere, between the rain and the quiet, everything had begun to change.